


For Want of a Nail

by 27dragons, tisfan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Centaurs, Cross-Species Relationships, Culture Shock, Found Family, Hunters & Hunting, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Learning new culture, M/M, Meet-Cute, Near Death Experiences, Sex, Shapechanging, background Natasha/Sam, centaur sex, magical abilities, yeah we'll warn for that chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24928297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: The centaur, Bucky, is traveling to the witch coven to get the herbs needed to alleviate his herd-mate’s cough. On the way, he throws a shoe. Centaurs don’t usually associate much with humans, but what choice has he got?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 716
Kudos: 1094
Collections: Fairytale Bingo, Tony Stark Bingo 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a work in progress -- and usually dragons prefers that we not post those until they're finished. This story, however, is mostly a series of interconnected little scenes.

If it had been any other day of the year, Bucky might have been enjoying the weather. It was warm, but breezy, so sweat dried on his flanks, cooling him as soon as it formed. The sun was out, there were some light clouds, and it had rained the night before, so everything smelled sweet and clean.

But it _wasn’t_ any other day of the year. It was two days before the Summer Solstice, he still had more than fifty miles to go, and he’d just thrown a shoe.

He picked the shoe up from the side of the road where it had landed when that last dubious nail had gone wobbly.

The shoe itself was not in terrible shape, but even if he had a hammer and nails -- which he didn’t -- there was no way he was flexible enough to shoe his own rear hoof. He was bendy, but not that bendy. He didn’t even think Natasha was that bendy.

He’d passed a small town about a league ago, and he was pretty sure he’d seen smoke when he passed it, which usually indicated a smithy.

Centaurs didn’t spend a lot of time in human towns, unless they had to. So Bucky had never stopped at the myriad villages and townships along the path from where he and his herd lived in Brooklyn, all the way out to the coven of healers and witches, even though he made the trip four times a year. The herbs Steve needed to calm his cough were rare, and preparing them was even harder. It required a witch. And a sacred holiday.

But there was no way he could run another fifty miles while missing a shoe. He was just going to have to hope that the town did have a blacksmith, that the blacksmith knew how to make shoe nails, and that he knew how to put a shoe on a centaur.

“Haybales,” Bucky swore. He tucked the shoe into his satchel, turned around, and limped back the other way, trying not to put too much weight on his left hind leg, and taking care to not stumble on his right front leg. It was like trying to canter and eat apples at the same time. Possible, but not recommended.

Almost an hour later, he managed to stagger into the village.

People stared at him, and no wonder, as he was moving like a horse with tetany, limping hard to one side, and then to the other. 

“Blacksmith?” he demanded of the nearest human who got close enough to him. 

“Down that street,” she said, pointing. “Toward the end, you can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” he said, offering one of the small metal things that humans used. _Coins_ , Bucky’s herd stallion called them. Centaurs didn’t trade in things so useless, so he really didn’t remember the value of them. 

Her eyes widened as she took it. “Thank you, sir.”

Right. Bucky shrugged. Apparently the yellow ones were the higher value _coins_. Stupid, human things. Bucky took a deep breath, trying to ignore the aching in his hocks, and thudded down the human road. It would have been easier to walk in the grass, but humans didn’t put much value in grass. Follow the smoke. And as he got closer, the ringing sound of metal on metal.

Finally, he made it, and all but started to cry of sheer exhaustion, but he wasn’t a colt to cry and wail, so he settled himself as well as he could. “Ho, the blacksmith!”

“Two shakes!” The hammer kept ringing, a slow, steady beat, for another minute or two, and then Bucky heard the loud hiss of hot metal that had been quenched. Another thud and some clattering, and the smith emerged, wiping the sweat from his face. “Aye, what’s the-- Oh!” He stared up at Bucky with suddenly-wide eyes. “Hello, stranger.”

Bucky huffed. He wasn’t so very _strange_. If anything, the tiny little human who emerged from the smithy was strange, with his goggly eyes stuck in his hair, and the smears all over his clothes and skin, and… well, there was no denying that clothes were pretty strange, in and of themselves. But humans were always wearing clothes, so maybe, to them, centaurs were the odd ones. 

“I require the services of a blacksmith,” Bucky said. “And perhaps a farrier.” In centaur herds, the job was the same; work metal into shoes and nails, attach them for their herdmates. But Bucky had heard that some humans worked metal for other things. The centaurs often had to trade for more specialized metal parts and pieces.

“I can fit shoes,” the smith said. He looked Bucky over, sharp-eyed, zeroing in on the unshod hoof. “How long have you been walking on it like that?”

Bucky scowled. “It was loose when I left the herd, but our blacksmith was away. It only kicked free maybe three or four miles ago?”

The smith grunted. “Not too bad, then. Do you need a new shoe? That might take me a little while; centaur hooves are wider than most of the dumb stock our farmers keep.”

“I found it,” Bucky said. He couldn’t have left it behind. Among the herd, he and Steve were the lowest ranking, had the least amount of grazing space. If he’d lost the shoe, he would probably have had to hire the smith to remove the other three and gone shoeless for a season or two while they scavenged for cast off human made items to melt and trade. Steve had nailed the right front shoe on for him a few times when it came loose. He pulled it out of the satchel he wore across his chest. “I have human coin.”

The smith shook his head. “Don’t worry about it; cost of a few nails won’t set me back too far, and you’re pretty enough to be worth it.” He flashed a grin up at Bucky as he took the shoe, running his hands over its worn edges with practiced ease. “What depth?”

Bucky held out one hand, showing off a broad thumb. “The length between this knuckle, and that one.” He kicked out with his left hind leg, groaning a little. “I think the frog’s bruised.” Stupid human roads and their stupid human rocks. He’d known a few of their herd who were able to afford fancy shoes, with a cover that kept rocks and dirt out. But then, some of them ended up lame anyway. Normal shoes did all right for him, and for Steve.

The smith frowned at that. “I’ve got some cream I can put on it that’ll help with the pain. And a pad, too. Come on into the shop, let’s get you fitted. Name’s Tony, by the way.” He glanced at the human-sized door he’d come through, then jerked his head and led the way around the side of the building, to where the smith’s forge was set under a roof with no wall. A hitching post stood to one side of the yard and the dirt had obviously been well-trampled by numerous hooves.

Tony. Huh. Bucky wondered if he was named for how tiny he was. But then, most humans were tiny, comparatively. “Bucky is what I am called.”

Tony twisted past the forge and reached into a barrel to draw out a handful of horseshoe nails. He held them up against Bucky’s shoe to check the fit, one by one. One nail got tossed back into the barrel and another selected. When he was satisfied, he held them out for Bucky’s inspection. “All good?”

Bucky swallowed. “You have a whole barrel full of _nails_?” Tony must be _rich_. He’d never selected nails before. They’d usually been made on the spot, the day he needed them, and sometimes driven red-hot into the hoof. Which didn’t hurt, not exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable.

Bucky took up one nail and looked at it. It looked like a centaur shoe nail. “I-- I can’t tell,” he admitted. “I don’t usually look at my own nails.”

Tony shrugged. “Okay. Speak up if it doesn’t feel right, and we’ll figure it out.” He grinned again. “At least I can trust you not to try to kick me.” He reached up on a shelf and grabbed a jar. “This’ll help that bruise.” He tucked the nails and the shoe into the pocket of the leather apron he wore and made his way toward Bucky’s rear, one hand running lightly along Bucky’s side.

That was twitchy, and Bucky found himself flicking his tail at the light touch, as if Tony were a fly he could shoo off. Except, he didn’t really want the light, ticklish touch to stop. Not really.

“I’m not used to humans being so close,” Bucky complained. “But no, I won’t kick you.”

Probably. Assuming Tony didn’t do anything horrible, like pull his tail.

“Oh, sorry!” Tony jerked his hand away. “Habit, that. You have to let horses know where you are if they can’t see you. I’ve only met a handful of centaurs before. Sorry. I, uh-- Okay, can you lift the foot for me?”

Bucky twisted around, trying to see. Tony was right in that blind spot of his, where his own rump got in the way of seeing what was behind him. “Is there a stump?” He usually rested his leg against a leather padded tree stump so the smith could work on it. He picked up his leg, sighing with relief as the pain eased, and was shocked when Tony grabbed his hock and rested it against-- Bucky twisted further, trying to see-- it looked like the human had Bucky’s hoof held between his own thighs. 

“Is that how-- you usually do this?”

“Sure,” Tony said easily. “Horses do not like having their legs held up; have to brace them somehow so they stay put while I put the shoe on. Which, now that I think of it, doesn’t make sense for centaurs for like four different reasons. What are you used to?” Bucky couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but he touched the bottom of Bucky’s hoof, little points of soreness where he was testing the bruise, and then there was something cool on it, like he’d stepped into dewy grass.

So Bucky found himself talking about the smith in his herd -- Rumlow, a big, brawny centaur with a liver chestnut coat. “It’s considered bad manners to kick another herd member,” Bucky told him, matter of fact. “And cowardly to move your hoof while the smith works.” He didn’t mention that he sometimes thought Rumlow took advantage of both of those things to be cruel. Getting shod didn’t have to be _painful_ , even if it was never exactly pleasant.

Case in point: Tony, who rubbed the cream into Bucky’s bruised frog, then carefully fitted the shoe. “First nail’s the hardest,” he said. “I need three hands, I swear-- Okay, going in now; speak up if it doesn’t feel right.” The shuddery jolt through Bucky’s leg as the hammer struck home, the pressure in his hoof from the nail driving into it. But it wasn’t painful; the nail stopped well short of the sensitive places covered by the hoof. “Okay?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Bucky said. Tony might have needed three hands, but Bucky needed eyes on his tail, he could swear.

“Great!” Tony wiggled the shoe a little, testing its position, then placed another nail. “Off we go, then.”

It didn’t take nearly as long, Bucky thought. Although he wasn’t sure about that; he couldn’t see the sun, so it was nearly impossible to judge the time, but no more than a finger’s worth of shadow had grown before Tony was letting his hoof down with a cheerful, “how’s that feel?”

Bucky took a couple of tentative steps. It was always those few steps that had made him want to kick Rumlow. Hard. In the chest. But everything felt… pretty good, actually. No limping home and getting Steve to bring him a bucket of ale.

He could still use a drink, really. The whole thing was nerve-wracking and made him feel twitchy and shuddery like he’d gotten bitten by flies and needed a spare tail, or some mud to roll in.

“Very well, I thank you again,” Bucky said. He reached for his satchel and pulled out the handful of assorted coins. Sometimes humans would give them to the herd for pieces of their tail. Powerful charms could be made from them, Bucky understood. One winter, when things had been very, very bad, Bucky had plucked almost his entire tail bare to get enough herbs for Steve’s salve. He still had a few coins left from that. “Here, I-- I don’t know what these mean, but humans like them.” He offered the handful to Tony.

Tony shook his head. “It’s fine, really. Save them for the next time you need to trade with humans. The conversation was worth the price of a few nails.”

“You must be very wealthy,” Bucky commented, looking around the shop now that he was shod and feeling better. He probably wouldn’t go completely lame, which was good, and maybe the witches would let him rest at their coven before the long trot back to the herd. There were piles of tools, and stacks of bars. “Are these pure iron?” He touched one of the bars tentatively.

“Those, yes. Those over there are steel.” Tony nodded toward another stack. “Is that what your people trade in? Iron?”

“Iron, yes,” Bucky said, even if he’d never seen so much iron in his _life_. “And leather. Special wood for our bows. Iron is good. For arrowheads and tools. Awls and hammers and dig-rods. There’s a tool, we have one in our whole herd, that cuts wheat, swish, just like that! With an iron blade.”

“You’re using an _iron-bladed scythe?_ ” Tony said. “How... Even our poorest farmers at least have steel scythes.” He glanced around the shop, then stepped into the shadows and came back with a wheat-cutter. Its handle was shaped a little differently than the one the herd had, but the blade was much the same, except for being bright and silvery. “Steel doesn’t wear down as fast as iron,” Tony explained. “Stays sharp longer.”

“Ours--” Bucky said, reaching out as if to touch the shiny blade, but not quite daring to do so. “Ours is dark, and red, and the surface is… has little dings in it. It’s very old. Our herd stallion took it as a trophy of war, some two decades ago.”

Tony sighed a little. “Yeah, that’s not surprising. And if it’s red and pitted, it’s not going to last much longer. Take this one.” He held it out, then frowned and pulled it back. “Actually, I could lengthen the handle, since your shoulders sit a good three or four feet higher than a human’s. Be easier to use with a longer handle.”

“I couldn’t possibly trade for that,” Bucky whispered. “Not even if I picked my tail bare for three seasons.” 

“Picked your-- This is a common tool,” Tony said. “Three gold coins -- well, four, if I’m going to change out the handle.”

 _Four_. Of the yellow coins? And Bucky could have a tool that would make him rich-- a wheat-cutter, long enough to use comfortably? He could clear the fields in mere weeks, before the grain rotted and the bugs infested the stalks.

Bucky found a clear space on one of the shelves and started pulling things out of his satchel. A packet of clay-made arrowheads -- Steve had made those one year when they’d had a good fire going -- and several balls of thread, his trail rations, which were mostly just berries and honey, dried until they were sticky bars. There. At the very bottom, he had what was left of the coins, twelve, altogether. “This is what I have.”

Tony leaned in to look. He plucked a few coins out of the small pile, and then picked up the arrowheads, pulling one free of the packet and testing its edge with his thumb.

“Steve usually makes beads,” Bucky said, as if apologizing for the work. “Beads for luck, and beads for good harvest… beads.” He touched the one in his hair that hung there, tiny and beautiful, that was charmed to keep away owlbears, one of the centaur’s greatest enemies. The better the carving on the bead, the better the charm worked, and Steve was an expert carver. “These were-- because we need to eat sometimes, too.”

Tony frowned. “Why wouldn’t you eat? Especially if your Steve makes beads for harvest. Our hedge-witch, who blesses our harvests, she gets a share of every crop as soon as it comes in. More than she could eat in a year, truth told. She gives a lot of it to the orphans’ home.”

“Steve’s-- well, Steve is _bad luck_. Born under an ill-omen, too early. Sickly. He coughs a lot and has trouble breathing. He’s very slow, too. His legs don’t always work right. We have to pay the herd stallion just to stay in the herd. We wouldn’t be safe, alone. I’d have to leave him alone to hunt and to harvest.” Bucky shuddered. Rumlow had tried a few times to convince him to let the runt go, to leave him behind. But Bucky wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that. Steve was his _best friend_. 

Tony looked shocked. “You have to _pay_ to-- That’s awful. You and your-- what, brother? Mate? -- you need a new herd.”

“Steve’s my best friend,” Bucky said, a little defensively. “I don’t even know--” He knew there were other centaur herds, but getting taken in as two unmated males, one of whom was sickly? He doubted it would be easy, and Steve probably wouldn’t live long enough to find one, anyway. As it was, Nastasha and Sam took turns watching Steve when Bucky couldn’t be there. “Maybe next year. I still need to go to the witch coven and get herbs. We’d need a good, long, dry season to even start _looking_.” 

And that didn’t even consider the possibility that, separated from their herd, the owlbears would come. Centaur meat was their favorite, and the owlbears were predation hunters. They would just keep coming, long after a centaur had gone lame.

Tony’s face twisted. “I suppose that makes sense. Still, if you and your friend wanted to come here, we’d help you.”

Bucky blinked. _Live among humans_. “Why?” he asked cautiously, his tail flicking a few times and his whole lower body sidled a little bit _away_ from Tony.

“Why not? I like you, you seem like a good person. Your friend obviously has some real skill--” Tony held up the arrowhead he’d been fiddling with. “--and the town could always use another good hunter. And, quite frankly, your herd stallion sounds like a _dick_.”

It wouldn’t take nearly as long to make the trip from the herdlands to the village, Bucky thought. “I will ask Steve what he thinks,” he said. Because Steve had been very outspoken against the herd stallion -- which probably had added to their burden of tithe. And because Steve wasn’t going to live much longer if things didn’t change. Maybe this would be a good change.

“Are we allowed?” Because a _human_ would never be allowed to live among the herd, even if there wasn’t precisely a rule against it.

“Of course,” Tony said. “We’ve got a couple of elf families, and there’s a satyr who works for the tanner, and there’s a clan of dwarves who-- well, they don’t live _in_ town, but they’re pretty close by; they come in all the time to trade with us.” He cocked his head, considering. “Might cause a few problems because the buildings aren’t really designed for anyone with four legs, but we can probably work around that.”

It was worth considering. Bucky nodded. “All right.” He eyed the scythe greedily. “How long will it take, to make these changes? I must be to the coven by the Solstice.”

Tony looked down at the scythe thoughtfully. “You’re on your way out to the coven? Stop by on your way back and it’ll be ready.”

“I shall, then,” Bucky said. He sniffed a bit, and located a bucket of somewhat dirty water. He grimaced, but it was probably better than trying to drink out of the human’s trough they kept. “Can I impose further on a bucket or two of water?”

“Sure, water’s easy,” Tony said. He edged past Bucky to a small covered pit in the yard. He pulled the cover away to reveal a deep well, water sparkling at the bottom. Tony lowered a bucket on a rope and then hauled it back up and offered it to Bucky.

Bucky peered into the well. “Did you-- _make_ this?” Humans were perhaps not so stupid after all. The herd drank from the river, and rainwater when it could be caught up in woven straw buckets.

“Well, not me personally; that well’s been here since before I was born. But I helped one of the farms dig a new well a few years back, so I know how.”

“I don’t think we could do that,” Bucky said. He wouldn’t fit in such a small opening. “But it’s _amazing_. How convenient for you.”

“Important to have water close by the smithy,” Tony said. “Fire being what it is. I have some ideas for ways to make it easier to lower and raise the bucket, when I have time to build it. Maybe over the winter.”

Bucky drank from the bucket, almost thirty swallows exactly, before handing it back, empty.

“You’re very kind,” Bucky said, “and very clever. Beadwork is not what I do well, but--” He plucked out one hair from his tail and wrapped it several times around his finger, rolling it into a ring. Closed his hand around it and concentrated. It wasn’t much, a simple cantrip that anyone in the herd could do. But when he handed it over, it was a shiny, slender band, the same deep red as Bucky’s coat. “If you have need of my aid, hold this ring and think of me, and I will hear you, and come.”

Tony’s eyes widened as he took the ring. “You’re really-- I mean, this is. I didn’t do that much, you know.”

“It’s cantrip magic,” Bucky said, closing Tony’s hand around it. “Any colt in the herd can do this much. If I show up and you’re facing a parliament of owlbears, I will probably not help you.” He laughed at that joke. No one would want to face a parliament of owlbears.

Tony laughed, too. It was a nice sound. “If I’m facing an entire parliament of owlbears, then I expect I’ll be lunch long before you get to me. Luckily, there aren’t too many near here.”

“No, perhaps not,” Bucky said. “Again, I thank you. I will return for the wheat-cutter in… four days time, barring unexpected delays.” He bowed, hand over his heart, extending one foreleg. Very formal. He rarely bowed to the herd stallion so low, but Tony wouldn’t know that.

Tony echoed the gesture, as well as a being with only two legs could. “It has been my honor to meet you, Bucky.”

“The honor is mine.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fills 27dragons' Starkbucks Bingo square I4 - "Do you come here often?"

Tony hung up his apron and splashed his face with the water from the quenching bucket -- still warm and a little gritty, but it would suffice to rinse off the soot and sweat until he got home. He paused in front of the little shelf where he kept Bucky’s ring to admire the way it seemed to glow in the fading light of the evening.

Summer was nearly over. When he’d stopped to pick up the modified scythe, the centaur had promised again to talk to his friend about leaving the herd and coming to town, but Tony hadn’t seen him again. His friend must not have liked the idea.

Which meant Tony had built a guesthouse designed to accommodate four-legged guests for no real reason. Well, the town probably needed one anyway, centaurs and cervitaurs being a thing. They might be more willing to trade with the humans if they knew they wouldn’t be expected to sleep out in the fields with the horses and cows.

So not for nothing. Just... not for the reason Tony had actually built it.

Not for the first time, he thought about putting the ring on, summoning Bucky to him. But what would he say? _I just wanted to see you again?_ Ridiculous.

He sighed and touched it lightly -- it had the same slightly wiry texture as the tail hair that it had been made from -- and left it on its shelf as he left the smithy and turned up the street toward his small house.

There was a noise, and a small crowd had gathered, just past the smithy, to stare. The road was left wide open, as if someone were expecting a parade.

“I’m astonished they made it this far, in that contraption,” one of the townswomen confided as Tony came up. He mostly remembered her, she came to him from time to time for specialty shapes to bake cakes and bread loaves in.

She pointed just down the road where--

Two centaurs were pulling a sledge made from split logs tied together and balanced precariously on mismatched wheels. A third centaur, this one female with brilliant red hair and a black coat, was in the back of the -- dare Tony actually call it? Cart? -- and pushing at one of the wheels with a stick from time to time to keep it moving.

On the sledge itself, looking utterly miserable, was a fourth centaur. Tiny, spindly legs, barely bigger than a child, who swayed alarmingly on the platform.

 _Bucky?_ Tony pushed through the crowd enough to get a better look and -- yes, Bucky was one of the ones in the front. But Bucky had only mentioned his friend Steve -- who were the other two? A mate and a colt, perhaps? Or... Tony didn’t know.

Even as he blinked, the tiny one on the sledge staggered and barely caught its balance. “Did it not occur to anyone to offer to _help_ them?” Tony wondered aloud, exasperated. He pushed the rest of the way through -- having a smith’s arms was handy, sometimes. “Bucky!” he called, and lengthened his stride to reach the centaurs. “You came back!”

“He knows your name,” the little one pointed out, and his voice was extraordinarily deep, speaking of a much greater maturity than his size indicated. “Do you come here often?”

“Only twice, and I told you,” Bucky said. “This is Tony, the blacksmith. Tony-- my friend.” He offered a hand to Tony as if to shake it.

That was new; Bucky hadn’t offered to shake either of the other two times. He’d been learning human customs, perhaps? Tony took Bucky’s hand in a careful grip. “It’s good to see you,” Tony said. He glanced at -- it must be Bucky’s friend Steve on the sledge. Bucky had told him Steve was small and sickly, but Tony hadn’t realized just _how_ small. Or how sickly; the tiny centaur looked ready to pass out. “I’ve got a place you and your friends can stay, it’s just down here. Can I help?”

“A place,” repeated the other centaur in front, looking dubious. “Do you mean a stable?”

“Of course not!” Tony wondered what kinds of humans lived closer to the centaur herd, if that was the sort of housing they were expecting. “It’s a house. Doesn’t have very many rooms, because I had to make the passages big enough for you to fit, but it’s not a _stable_ , you’re not _animals_.”

“No, we are not,” the woman said, coming up alongside Bucky and the others. “But I smell rain, Sam. We need to get Steve under a roof, stable or not.” 

“Tony, these are my friends. Steve, of whom I have spoken much. And Sam and Natasha, newly mated. The herd stallion--”

“Pierce didn’t want us to mate,” Natasha said, scowling. “He wants all the mares for himself, and I refused. When I wasn’t mated at all, it wasn’t an issue. We are now a smaller herd.” She gestured, indicating the four outcast centaur.

“Much smaller,” Steve agreed, coughing again until he was red in the face.

“Indoors, right,” Tony said, jolted into action by the sound of that cough. “You-- run and fetch Dr. Banner, would you?” He took a few steps down the road, shooing curious townsfolk out of the way. “This way, not too much farther now.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Bucky said. He and Sam lifted the cart’s tongue and dragged it. “Steve is quite weary, he really can’t walk much further.”

He looked as if he might apologize, but Steve threw something at him from the cart. When Tony watched it bounce off Bucky’s flank and hit the road, he realized it was a seed pod from a gumball tree.

Tony stifled a laugh. “Where did you get this thing?” he wondered, waving at the cart. “Did you build it yourselves?”

“Buck here was gonna carry Steve outta there, if we didn’t help,” Sam said. “Cobbled this thing together from bits and pieces. There was a trapper’s house, not far from the herdlands. Buck promised he knew how to work it, and I guess he did, because here we are, but if you humans use these things all the time, it’s no wonder you all live in crowded little bunches like this.”

“It helps,” Tony said neutrally, “if the wheels are all the same size. But you did very well for something you had to put together from scraps.” He turned the corner and pointed. “There’s the house,” he said. “There’s no furniture yet because I didn’t know what you’d like, but we’ll get you whatever you need.”

Bucky stopped dead in the middle of the road. “You made this-- for me-- for us?” He stared at the house, which was, admittedly, nothing special. Somewhat taller than the usual human dwelling, because Tony thought that the centaurs might like to have room to stretch their arms over their heads, which they probably could not do in a human house. Windows. A very very wide door -- two sides which swung outward, in order to accommodate them.

But it wasn’t _fancy_. The windows were waxed paper rather than glass, and the roof was thatched, instead of slated, but those were improvements that could be made in time.

“I mean, it wasn’t-- I got the idea from your visit, and of course if you did come -- which you did, I’m happy to see you -- then you’d need somewhere to stay. But I thought, even if you didn’t, it would be good to have a place in case any _other_ centaur folk came. It’s not much.”

Bucky stared some more, until Sam finally said, “well, don’t just stand there, let’s _go in_.”

“Remind me to reconsider my stances on rescuing you from a parliament,” Bucky said. Both Sam and Bucky examined the door a few times before Tony had to scoot in and show them how the mechanism worked, a simple sliding bolt. It could be locked if it needed to be, but for the time being, Tony’d just left it open. Some of the village children had come to play in it the first few weeks after it had been made.

He demonstrated the slide and then pushed the door open, waving them in ahead of him. “Go on, have a look. It’s not much, as I said, but better than standing out in the rain, right?” Maybe, anyway. Centaur herds mostly lived outdoors, but they had simple structures to protect them from the elements. At least, that was what Tony had learned.

Sam went first, marveling at how high the roof was. There were a few rooms on either side of a wide hallway, and at the end, one fairly sizable room for-- Tony wasn’t sure if centaurs had need of a kitchen, but there was a hearth for a fire, or a stove, later if they wanted one.

“It’s like a cave,” Natasha said, opening the door into one of the side chambers that Tony had envisioned as sleeping rooms, with shelves on one wall, loaded with a few buckets and bowls. He knew Bucky, at least, drank ale, and usually did so from a bucket, so that seemed reasonable. 

“What is this?” Steve asked, leaning over to inspect the floor. Tony hadn’t been too sure about that. Most of the flooring was hard-packed earth out of respect for centaur hooves, but he’d put down a few rag rugs, in case they got cold. He didn’t know-- there was so much humans did not know about centaurs, really.

“A rug,” Tony said. “The weather’s still warm now, but when it gets cold out, those will help keep the floor warm. We can take them out if you don’t like them.”

Sam had found the hearth and the pile of wood nearby. “I don’t think cold is going to be a problem.”

“It’s-- _beautiful_ ,” Steve said, pulling it up off the floor to examine it more closely. “Look at this, Buck, it’s like a basket, but just to be pretty?”

“Well, maybe someone will teach you,” Bucky said. “We-- this is so much more than we were expecting, Tony. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, of course,” Tony said, shrugging off Bucky’s gratitude uncomfortably. Human guests to the town would of course expect to find a place they could rest. “I, uh, didn’t put any food here because I wasn’t sure when there would be anyone to eat it. But I was just on my way home, so if you want, I could go wash up and change, and we could go see if the tavern has anything you’d find palatable?”

“Change what?” Bucky wondered. “But yes, the tavern. The man who works there was very generous, last time. Natasha?”

“We will stay here, for now,” she said, nodding. “This will be warmer and more comfortable than the leans. Walls on all sides, to keep the wind out. The top smells like food, looks like food, but it is not. Very dry. See if you can get us food, and we will have a huddle later.”

“Yes, I definitely do not recommend eating the roof. It’s what keeps the rain out.” Tony was all but bursting with questions, but Bucky and his friends had obviously had a difficult day -- or several days, perhaps; he wasn’t sure. Later. He would have time to indulge his curiosity later. “Okay, I am going to go change -- my clothes, that is. I’ve been working in these all day and they stink -- and by then the rain will probably have passed and we can go see what the tavern has in the pot.” 

“You smell like Tony,” Bucky said. “Rather a lot of Tony, but you do not _stink_.”

Tony laughed a little. “I stink to other humans,” he said. “And if we’re going to be in the tavern, which is likely to be tightly-packed--” It would be crowded once word Bucky was there got around, even if it wasn’t on their first arrival. “--then I should clean up first. I’ll be back for you in just a little while. Give you a chance to rest some, too, right?”

“Yes,” Bucky said. “You will do that. And I will-- make use of your well? At the smithy?” He indicated the few buckets that were on the shelves.

“Yes, please help yourself,” Tony agreed. There were public wells for the town’s use, but the smithy was probably easier for Bucky to find without assistance, and it was getting dark. 

He ducked out of the centaurs’ house and dashed down the street to his own, making it just as the rain broke. He cleaned up as quickly as he could and pulled on his town clothes, which were nice enough that he didn’t wear them to work in, so they were always ready if he wanted to step into town in the early morning or after the smithy had shut down for the evening.

He peered into the polished silver mirror and considered shaving, and then shook his head at himself. Bucky was not going to notice -- much less care -- if Tony had shaved. And all other eyes would be on the centaur, not Tony. He ran his hands through his hair to try to convince it to lie flat and only succeeded in making it stand up more.

He sighed and lit the night-candle so he wouldn’t be stumbling through the darkness when he got home, and then made his way back to the centaurs’ house to knock on the door.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Bruce Banner said, opening the door. “I was hoping you’d help me-- translate, perhaps. What I’m gathering is that they do not, in fact, have anything remotely like a doctor or a veterinarian. I’m not going to use magic, and they don’t know about non-magical healing.”

Tony blinked at the doctor. “That... is not a problem that had occurred to me,” he admitted. When Bruce stepped back to let him in, he pointed at Bucky. “Bruised frog, that first time we met,” he said. “Did that cream I put on it help?”

“The cold stuff?” Bucky looked confused for a moment. “I didn’t know-- I mean, yes, it felt better. I was able to get all the way to to coven and then to the herdlands, after throwing a shoe and trying to walk on it for _miles_.”

“That’s great, glad to hear it.” Tony spread his hands. “Humans, we mostly -- I mean, there _are_ magic healers, but it’s costly magic, usually. So we use other methods. Certain herbs, in combinations. Applied heat is useful. Bruce here has had to sew me up a few times when I’ve had an accident with something sharp. It’s healing, but without magic. Slower, but not so draining.”

“Sew? You will have to tell me about this sew,” Bucky stated. “All right. You may-- _doctor_ Steve. He has been ill most of his life, it is unlikely that you can make it worse.”

Tony grinned at Bruce and waved toward Steve. “Your patient awaits, Doctor. And my guests are probably famished, so if you’ll excuse me... Bucky? Ready to go?”

“Yes, I am ready,” Bucky said. He stamped his front hooves a few times. “Sam, I am going!” In a lower voice, to Tony, he said, “Sam and Natasha are very weary, and I have agreed that they can stay, rest, and get to know a human or two before they must talk with many, all at once, with so many questions. They are trying to make me herd stallion of our little herd, but I don’t think that’s necessary. Not just yet.”

Well, that neatly answered at least one of Tony’s questions. “I’m sure you’re tired, too. I’ll try to keep the others from entirely swarming you, but I’m only one man. Still, we’ll be in and out as quickly as we can. But yes, the one who has some experience with humans is likely better equipped for this.” He led the way out and toward the tavern. “What do you like to eat?”

“I am told,” Bucky said, “by my few acquaintances among the witch covens, that I have the worst of both worlds. A horse stomach and a man stomach, and both need care. This summer, with your wonderful wheat-cutter, we had enough wheat and oat and barley that we made several good, summer seed cakes. I like apples. But also, deer steak and turnip greens. I had something once, when I was a colt. My Ma was _furiously_ insulted. Some human child offered me a _lump of sugar_ and it was the best thing I ever tasted.”

Tony laughed. “Okay, so you eat meat; that won’t be a problem. Tavern’s likely to have stew, which is a little meat and a lot of vegetables -- mostly roots like carrots and turnips -- all cooked together. And bread, they’ll have bread. Maybe some apples, though it’s a bit early for them. Another few weeks, and we’ll have plenty of apples. Sugar, though, yeah, we can get you some sugar.”

Bucky made a very horse-like snort. "My Ma would say you are trying to make me your steed."

“Why? Because I’m trying to help you? Very suspicious person, your mother.”

"Humans," Bucky said. "we're told stories about them, from when we're scarcely more than foals. Of human greed and treachery. It's probably half lies and half ancient history. You're not like that."

“Ah, well, some are,” Tony conceded. “I admit, you fascinate me. I want to learn more about you. But I like you, just... you. If you were a human, I’d feel the same, I think. You’re nice to talk to.”

"It's nice that you think so," Bucky said. "The herd… well. I do talk a lot, I'm told. We're a herd people. We live, or die, together."

“It’s good that you were able to bring your friends with you, then,” Tony said. “So you can have some kind of herd.” The tavern was easy to spot in the darkness, lights and shadows in the windows, the sound of laughter and music spilling out into the street. “Ready to try our ale?” Tony asked, grinning. “We once had a dwarf tell us that it wasn’t totally undrinkable.”

"I'd be delighted," Bucky said. "such a tiny thing as yourself, I shall be drinking long after you fall down."

“I have no doubt,” Tony agreed. “You can have buckets and I’ll have pints. Seems fairer.” He eyed the door, but it was built somewhat wider than most house doors -- probably because it needed to accommodate drunk patrons leaning on each other as they staggered out. “Pretty sure you can fit through the door if you duck your head down,” he told Bucky. “Let me open it and you can come through. Ceiling’s pretty high, so your head should be okay.”

Bucky practically climbed through the door, ducking down low and using the door frame to pull himself in but once he was through the door, there was ample room, provided he watched his entire hind quarter.

The good news was that they drew enough attention, just getting through the door, that Tony was able to shoo a handful of townies out of their corner table and drag the table away from the wall enough that Bucky could fit behind it. Which let the centaur watch all the people in the room while still having the table between him and them so they couldn’t get too close, at least not all at once. And once Bucky was situated, there was a lot less potential for him to accidentally step on someone’s foot. “Good?” Tony confirmed, and then waved for the server. “Food and ale, lots of both!” he called.

Bucky found many things about human meals astonishing, starting with forks and napkins. "What do you _do_ with these things?" He did drink easily enough, although he found pint glasses to be much too small.

Tony showed him how to use the fork -- Bucky’s human half was more or less normal-sized, so it only took him a moment to pick it up, though he continued to wonder why it was _necessary_ \-- and explained the napkin. He could only laugh about the glasses, though. “Most of us only have one stomach to fill,” he pointed out. “Next time, we’ll bring you your own bucket.”

"This is… very nice," Bucky said, sticking his finger in the jam. "And this. Bread? It's really made from wheat? How?" Despite not using forks or napkins, he was a neat eater, his fingers and mouth stayed remarkably clean.

“We grind the wheat seeds down into powder, and then mix it with yeast and water and some other stuff,” Tony said, amused. “You really don’t have bread?”

"Nothing like this," Bucky said. "we have cakes." And he took one out of his satchel. "Cooked oats and berries and honey."

“That’s a cookie,” Tony said, and cocked his head at the thing. “Sort of. Well, human food is definitely a thing you and your friends will want to learn about, then. Most of it’s not even that hard.”

“Well, we are somewhat related to horses,” Bucky said. “So even if it is hard, my teeth can handle it.” Really, his face didn’t look all that different from a human’s. Somewhat more beautiful, maybe. Chest and arms and belly, like a human. It was just when you got below the navel that smooth skin gave way to a glossy coat of red-brown fur, nearly as tall as Tony, at the shoulder.

“I meant it’s not difficult,” Tony said. “Though I suppose we’ll need to figure out whether too much human food is bad for your horse stomach. Or if you need separate food for both stomachs -- how would that work? You don’t have two separate throats, do you?” Bucky’s neck looked like a normal, human-sized neck.

“No,” Bucky said. “At first, it is a matter of taste, when centaurs are young, that tells our bodies which stomach to send food to. But it is also why we are so very hard to kill.” He took Tony’s hand and placed it on his chest. “Two sets of lungs. Two hearts.” Tony could feel the human heart under his hand, and then Bucky pressed the same hand to the barrel of his horse-like chest. “Hard to kill.”

“Huh. Yeah, I can see where that would be useful, in a not-dying sort of way.” It was kind of fascinating how warm Bucky’s skin was, and how sleek and smooth the hair. It was a little awkward, just a bit, to be touching Bucky right where the genitals would be, if it were a human. Tony pulled his hand back before his brain could make that any _more_ awkward. “Okay, well. Unfortunately, while we have doctors for humans, and doctors for horses, we don’t have any centaur-doctors. So if you’re not feeling right, you’ll have to tell someone about it.”

“We don’t-- have _doctors_ ,” Bucky said. “The witches trade us, hair and beads and sometimes rocks, for special herbs, for some illnesses. Like Steve’s chest. He smokes these herbs and they make him feel better, breathe easier. But there are some things that herbs cannot cure. Like a broken leg.”

“Yes,” Tony admitted. “Even our medicine hasn’t figured out how to heal a horse with a broken leg.” Though it might be possible with a centaur, who had enough intellect to understand why they couldn’t try to stand on a broken leg. Well, it wasn’t like Tony was going to experiment on his friends. Tony shook that thought off and let his mind swerve to the other oddity. “The witches take rocks in payment?” Crystals, maybe? There were some crystals that the witches used for various purposes.

“Like your _coins_ , really,” Bucky said. “Pretty, but useless. Like--” He dug around in his satchel again, the only piece of clothing he wore, aside from the bow and quiver that he sometimes had over his shoulder. “Hold out your hand.” And he poured a king’s ransom worth of uncut rubies, emeralds, diamonds, sapphires, into Tony’s palm.

“Oh my go--” Tony quickly covered them with his other hand and looked around. There were people looking, because Bucky was a novelty, but he didn’t think anyone had noticed what, exactly, Tony was holding. “Put-- put these away,” he hissed, shoving them back at Bucky. “Don’t let anyone see.”

“As you say,” Bucky said, dumping them back into the pouch. “The witches take them for payment. Are they dangerous?”

“Nnnnot physically,” Tony hedged. “They’re just... um. For humans. They’re a little like coins. But worth quite a bit more, because they’re so hard to find. And an unscrupulous person, knowing that, and knowing that you don’t know how much they’re worth to us, could very much try to take advantage of you.” The way the witches had been doing, apparently. “Or worse, try to simply take them from you. It’s better if you keep that sort of thing very quiet.”

“Humans are very odd, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Bucky said. “You can’t eat coins, or use rocks to make a bow, or even sleep in a pile of it. What use are they?”

Tony spread his hands. “Damned if I know,” he admitted. “A long time ago, one group of humans decided that they _really liked_ shiny things and were willing to trade goods and services for them, and ever since, that’s what we’ve been doing.”

“Well, these are all that I’m ever going to have,” Bucky said. “The herd won’t let us back on the land. We’re outcast, now. If I go back, if I even tried, Pierce, the herd stallion, he would order me shot, or kicked in the head until I died.”

“Wow, that guy is an _entire_ dick,” Tony muttered. “Don’t worry about it. What you’ve got there? If you’re cautious, you and all your friends could be set for the rest of your lives. We’ll have to make a trip into the city to find a trustworthy moneychanger to sell them to, but... in human terms, my friend, you are extremely wealthy.”

Bucky shook his head. “And in centaur terms, you are very wealthy, with your stacks of iron and steel bars, and your _tools_.”

“Fair enough,” Tony said. “But I’m not trying to live amongst the centaur herd. If you want to stay here for long, we should make sure you know how humans think.” What if Bucky _didn’t_ want to stay? If he wanted to take his tiny herd away and find a place for themselves?

Tony clenched his jaw against the sudden sense of loss -- absurd. He’d known Bucky for a season, been in Bucky’s presence for less than a full day.

“You are a good friend, Tony,” Bucky said, taking Tony’s hand again and squeezing it between both of his. “I am honored to call you friend, and hope you think of me, the same.”

Tony smiled helplessly and clasped his other hand over Bucky’s. “The honor is mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! We posted the first chapter of this thinking that it would be a standalone, or perhaps one more chapter. Instead, we wrote _twelve_ chapters, so we decided to just add it to our regular rotation of posts instead of posting it on its own.
> 
> Please do note the change of rating and the added tags, and continue under your own advisement.


	3. Chapter 3

It hadn’t taken too long before Bucky figured out there were problems with all living together in a house, and it wasn’t just that Sam insisted on calling it a _stable_. Or that living even on the outskirts of a human village meant a lot more noise than Bucky was used to. How was anyone supposed to tell if worgen or owlbears were close, if no one could hear over the racket?

But, by far the biggest problem? 

Sam and Natasha were newly mated, and, enclosed in the same building as they were, Bucky’s sensitive ears straining to hear any predators approaching the herd, he really couldn’t avoid listening in on tender moments that he’d rather be absent for.

So, he’d taken to walking with Steve over to Banner’s dwelling; the human was working on replicating, as close as possible, the precious witch-herbs that they’d been forced to leave behind while fleeing the herdlands, and then giving Sam and Natasha most of the morning to engage in mating behaviors before gathering Steve up again and going home.

It meant he knew the town’s layout fairly well after a few days.

It also meant, about a week in, he was tired of being stared at all morning.

Maybe Tony would be about and have something they could-- well, do.

Bucky wanted to get out of town and run for a while. Hunt. 

_Something._

Tony was, in fact, at the smithy when Bucky trotted up, swinging a hammer with enormous force.

Pretty impressive, really. Bucky was sure he could swing harder, but the degree of accuracy with which he applied the blows, and the skill it took to shape red-hot metal into a tool. Fascinating.

“What wonders are you crafting, this morning?” he greeted his friend with a wave, which he had learned was human tradition, and a flick of his tail, and a stomp of one forehoof, which was his own.

Tony glanced up between one swing of the hammer and the next, grinning wide as he flipped the rod he was beating and dropped the hammer on it again. “A winch for hauling up the well bucket,” he said. “Not very exciting, but quite useful. What sort of amusements do you have planned today?”

“Not listening to my herd reaffirm their mating vows,” Bucky said. “And perhaps, going outside the village. Where does the town end and the farms begin? What are the traditions for the hunt?”

Tony lifted and dropped the hammer a few more times, then dropped the rod into the quenching bucket. “You want to go hunting? There’s a forest a couple of leagues out where we can hunt. On the other side of some of the farms.”

“The folk here,” Bucky said, because he’d seen several non-humans who lived in the village. The elven family were very kind, the satyr was taking some getting used to, “have been very generous, but it is time, and past time, where we must contribute to the whole, or else be a burden to everyone.”

Tony picked up a towel and wiped the sweat from his face and arms. “Hardly past time,” he said. “Master Kaplan’s mother-in-law visits from the city twice a year and stays longer than you’ve been in town, and she’s _utterly_ useless.” Tony grinned. “But if you want to do some hunting, we can arrange for that.” He pulled the rod from the bucket and examined it critically. Apparently satisfied, he laid it on one of his workbenches, then came all the way out of the smithy to look up at Bucky. “Now?”

Well, he didn’t mind the company, although he usually hunted alone, when he was granted permission. Fortunately, with just him and Steve to feed in their sub-group, he could hunt once a moon or so and still generally keep them fed. “We’re just-- allowed?” 

“Who would stop us?” Tony wondered. “I don’t have any work waiting that’s particularly urgent.”

Bucky decided not to clarify. In the herdlands, Pierce controlled all the hunting. Who could hunt, and when, and where. The theory was that it kept the centaur from accidentally shooting each other, but in practice, it meant stallions in better standing with Pierce got to eat first, to pick the fattest targets, had more opportunities. 

It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t know Pierce was not a kind herd stallion. But it felt weird, listening to Tony point it out. Like Bucky was supposed to be loyal, and defend Pierce.

But-- Pierce wasn’t worth defending. Not really. But Bucky started to wonder if maybe, maybe, he should have done something about it sooner. And that Tony must think poorly of him, for having not made the decision until it was forced on them all.

“What game do you prefer, then?”

Bucky pulled out his tiny bag of beads. “I prefer venison, myself.” He plucked the bead from the bag and carefully strung it on the luck-badge that rested just under his bow’s grip.

“Venison is good,” Tony agreed. “There’s small game, too -- rabbits are plentiful, and there’s some game birds. A few sounders, though mostly we rely on the farms for pork. Some wild goats, especially if we get up into the rocky hills. Bear, though that’s not my favorite meat. Too gamey. But plenty to choose from.”

Tony ducked back into the smithy to rummage in a trunk, and came up with a half-dozen or so metal contraptions and what looked like a very tiny bow made out of metal and fastened to a stout wooden frame. There was a pouch of tiny arrows, to fit the little bow, with oddly thick shafts.

“What… what is this called?” Bucky poked the device. His own bow was nearly as tall as Tony was, and had a fierce draw. He didn’t think a human would be able to wield it at all, except in the most dire circumstances.

“Miniature crossbow,” Tony said. “Full-sized crossbows are more powerful, but they take two people to properly load. This one, I can do myself, and it’s got enough kick for hunting.” There was a metal rod attached to the hand-grip that came off when Tony tugged at it; he tucked it under the little bow’s string and used it as a lever to pull the string into position, until a catch dropped to hold it steady. Bucky could practically hear the string singing with tension.

“It’s like a warbow. We use smaller bows, faster to shoot, and you can aim and canter at the same time,” Bucky said. He’d heard that humans were particularly good at war. 

Tony nodded. “Crossbows are slow and not very maneuverable, but they pack a hell of a punch. A full-sized one can send a quarrel right through plate armor.” He didn’t look very happy about it.

“We don’t use-- metal or cloth to cover up our bodies,” Bucky said. Natasha had started wearing a _vest_ whenever she was walking around the town because the human men stared, which made Sam very protective and nervous, but it wasn’t a traditional sort of thing at all. Bucky had seen _harnesses_ , drawn on the cave walls for their winter home, from long ago times, when men and centaurs had gone to war. 

Against each other. With each other. No one really seemed to know anymore.

“No, I’ve noticed that,” Tony said. “Don’t you get cold in the winter?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Bucky wondered. “We have caves-- like your _houses_ but we don’t build them. And fire to keep them warm. Steve makes some good warm-beads, but they don’t last very long.”

They walked toward the outside of town, and Bucky kept eyeing Tony. He knew many of the townsfolk had dumb horses, but also that everyone in town acted like Bucky might be offended that they existed. He wondered if humans were offended by monkeys. Maybe so. But he wouldn’t mind if Tony had a horse. Humans were very slow, and horses were faster.

“That could be handy,” Tony said idly. “Warm-beads. Even if they don’t last long. Mostly, when we’re cold, we just put on more clothes. It keeps the warm in.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to make of that. Keeps the warm in… where, exactly? He shook his head. It didn’t really much matter. The house would keep them warm and dry. It was, all things considered, remarkable.

Too bad the herd would never hear of it; many lives could be spared, if there was a warm, safe place to gather in the winter. The caves were good, but the ground inside was hard, bad for hooves, and the wind blew in, no matter how hard they tried to keep it out. There were nights when everyone huddled together, the young and elderly in the middle, to keep them warm, and in the morning, Steve would comb out the iceballs that formed in Bucky’s tail.

Tony grinned at whatever he saw on Bucky’s expression. “We’ll show you, when the weather turns,” he promised. A short while later he lifted an arm, pointed. “There’s the edge of the woods.”

“No luck-badge,” Bucky tsked over the _crossbow._ “We will endeavor to succeed.” He took another bead from his bag -- this one for _trueshot_. “Hold still.” And without a second thought, plucked one of the longer hairs off Tony’s head.

“Ow! What are you doing?”

“Making a temporary luck-badge,” Bucky said. He threaded the hair through the bead, knotting the hair. It made for a delicate perch, but it would do for a few shots. “Let me see that--” He gestured at the device. “--crowbow.”

“Crossbow,” Tony said, but held it out. “You know, I’m actually a pretty decent shot without any magical help.”

“ _Everyone_ needs luck,” Bucky said, seriously. He looped the hair over the handle, threading it back through the bead.

“It’s good to have luck, but wouldn’t it make sense to save the beads for when it’s especially important? It’s not like we’re going to go hungry if we have a bad hunt today.”

“You mistake _luck_ for _miracles_ ,” Bucky said, laughing. “Luck is in the little things. A little luck goes a long way, but it is not like she will go away entirely. Reminded that she’s needed, she’ll hang around. Thus, we have luck so we don’t need the miracle.”

“I’m not sure I get it,” Tony admitted, “but if the beads aren’t too difficult to make, then I guess it’s worth it to use them.” He shook the crossbow lightly, testing the bead’s movement. “Okay, sure. Let’s go see if we can find anything worth the hunt.”

Bucky nodded, looking around. He closed his eyes, breathing deep. Trying to filter out the smell of humans and their dumb beasts. To hear the creatures in this wood, to feel them, to sense and smell and know them. He was so still and so silent, he could hear Tony’s single heart beating, almost feel the question on his lips.

“Hmm,” Bucky hummed, holding up a hand, not opening his eyes. Then-- “Goose, you think?”

“Sometimes there’s geese,” Tony said. “Why, you hear honking?”

“I can smell them,” Bucky said. “Dust and feathers and spore. North, from here. There’s-- a river?”

Tony was silent for a moment. “You can smell that far? The river’s a good half-mile away.”

“The wind is coming that way,” Bucky said. “You can’t smell water?”

“Not from this far away, through the trees!”

Bucky patted him on the head. Poor thing. No wonder humans needed clever things like wells. “Don’t worry, I know what I smell. Let’s try that way?”

“Whatever you say,” Tony said, waving Bucky onward. “It’s your hunt.”

If Bucky was hunting on his own, he’d canter closer and then loop around, but Tony moved so slow on foot that Bucky started shifting them to stay exactly downwind. As long as they didn’t talk too much, it would probably be well. Geese were loud, and unless it was only a single family group, they could probably get a few stragglers without too much difficulty. 

Unless they got upset, in which case they’d all fly away.

“I wonder what it would be like to fly,” Bucky commented, glancing up as a small group of sparrows bobbed overhead.

“I’ve wondered that, too,” Tony said. “Seems like it would be fun. Free.”

“Galloping is nice,” Bucky mused. “When you’re not being chased.”

They worked their way through the wood and Bucky took an arrow from his quiver, scanning the ground. Goose trail was everywhere. Several family groups, at least. Two nice fat geese would make for very good eating.

Tony loaded one of those tiny arrows into his weapon. “We’re coming up on the river,” he murmured. “I can hear them, but there’s too much echo. Which way?”

Bucky listened, and sniffed. Shifted his weight on his hooves. He held up two fingers, and then pointed, north-east. He could hear some of them splashing around. That wouldn’t be good. Centaurs could swim, but it wasn’t their favorite. Bucky felt ill at ease when his hooves weren’t on the ground.

_Probably, you should not dream of flying_ , he told himself firmly.

Tony nodded and pressed forward. He was no expert hunter, rustling the underbrush as he passed, though he did a half-decent job of not stepping on too many twigs. The geese didn’t sound alarmed, yet.

Bucky stepped through the trees, passing almost soundlessly, the bush leaves stroking against his legs. Damn it; he thought he might have pushed through some pricker-thorn, which would mean dozens of flat little sticky seed pods in his tail.

But he came out right where he wanted to be, downwind of a flock of wild geese. Three, seven… maybe eleven all together. 

Once he struck one, the rest would be winging away. Given the canopy, Bucky thought he might be able to get three as they tried to fly away. In clear field, he would have been able to get all of them; if Pierce had ever allowed him to claim so many.

He blew a soft whistle between pursed lips, raised his bow and fired.

The first goose was barely falling to the ground before a shaft found a second feathery breast.

Tony’s little bow made a surprisingly loud _tang!_ as it released its little arrow. His aim was good, felling a third goose -- but as he’d said earlier, it was slow to reload. He had to take out the little prybar and pull the string back into its nocked position.

The flock was almost airborne and Bucky fired again, then grimaced as the bird managed to flap several more yards ahead and fell into the river. Fortunately, it snagged on a broken tree some ways down from the bank, but it would be chilly and unpleasant to fetch it. Busy swearing at himself, he all but missed Tony’s final shot, bringing down a fifth bird, which landed in a clump of bushes on the far side of the river.

“Fair done,” Bucky cheered, watching as the rest of the flock high-tailed it to the next bit of woods over, honking and complaining the whole while.

“Very impressive,” Tony agreed. “I guess your luck beads work well. You’re faster than I even imagined.”

‘You’re not a bad shot, yourself,” Bucky praised. “I could have done better, geese may be made for water and air and land, but centaurs are land-based.” He grimaced again, taking off his bow and finding a nice tree to lean it against. It would not do at all to get the string wet.

Tony cocked his head. “You don’t like swimming?”

“I know _how_ ,” Bucky said. “But it is not-- most of the herd-- we swim when we need to, and attempt to make sure that we don’t need to. Sometimes the only way to cross a river is to swim, but--” He didn’t know why he was explaining so much; he didn’t want Tony to think badly of him. His whole body was not made for water. One of the problems, he knew, of having so many limbs. There were just things he didn’t do well.

Climbing trees, for instance. He wouldn’t have wanted to try that, either, but he’d seen the village children scurrying up the bark like squirrels.

“Oh, well, I don’t mind it. I’ll grab the birds.” Tony dropped his little crossbow and his pack, and sat on a rock to pull off his boots.

Well, Bucky hadn’t meant Tony to do it _for_ him, but-- well, perhaps Tony was part of his little unorthodox herd. And the herd looked out for each other.

Tony stripped off his shirt, and it was almost a relief to see him bare-chested, normal-looking from the waist up, if a bit short, rather than wrapped in cloth like a colt who’d taken a fever. Bucky had grown used to the humans’ clothes over the last week, but he couldn’t deny they still seemed a bit strange.

Tony’s shirt landed on a rock, and was quickly followed by his trousers, leaving the human naked under the afternoon sun, and that was strange, too. His prick was just _hanging_ there, out in the open, totally unshielded. Maybe _that_ was why humans wore clothes.

Luckily, Tony didn’t seem to have noticed Bucky’s curious staring. “Be right back,” he promised, and made his way down the riverbank, testing his footing in the mud and rocks before pushing forward and kicking toward the far shore.

Bucky shuddered in sympathy, feeling the unsteady ground beneath his hooves, the movement of the water that would want to push him over. But Tony seemed almost like an otter in the water, all sleek hair and graceful movements.

He wasn’t as fast in the water as on land -- and humans weren’t exactly swift on land, either -- but eventually he made the far side and waded to the snaggle-limbed tree where the goose hung. He found a fallen branch and used it to tip the bird off the limb where it hung, then scooped it up and turned to find the last of his own game.

“We will eat well,” Bucky said, trussing up the dead birds. “And enough left for trade, yes? Oats and other grain, fruits? What’s the value of a goose, and feathers?” He got to the edge of the water and stretched out a hand to help Tony up from the water, and his gaze naturally went to the length of him, as water sheeted off the man’s body. 

There was a rumble and a tightness in Bucky’s belly that he wasn’t used to, a squeeze and a heat, and when he looked back at Tony’s face, the human’s cheeks were pink.

The moment passed, and Bucky could almost think he’d imagined it, except for the way Tony’s neck glowed as he pulled his clothes back on. “We’ll get you a good price,” he promised. “Wing and tail feathers will make good fletching; smaller feathers for bedding. The down, we can save and sell up in the city -- not enough here to actually _do_ anything with, but the wealthy folks up in the city buy up all they can get and stuff their pillows with it.”

“My Ma used to say that humans were greedy, that they made things and had things just to have more things than their herdmates,” Bucky said, thoughtfully. “I was always told if you could not carry it on your back, you didn’t need it.” He unstrung his bow and stuffed it in his quiver, slinging the whole thing onto his back, as if to demonstrate. “What do human mothers tell their children, about centaurs?”

Tony picked up his weapon and slung it from his belt, swinging a pair of the geese over his shoulder. “Depends on the mother, I suppose. That you’re little better than barbarians who don’t know to seek shelter from the rain. Or that you’re wise healers with mysterious and ancient knowledge.” He grinned and waved at Bucky’s back half. “You have a lot more back to carry things on, though, so maybe that works better for you.”

“Many years ago,” Bucky said, “when I was a halfling, you know. Not yet an adult. I moved into the back of the caves and saw cave paintings there. Of centaurs, who carried human riders. And these riders carried great shields that would protect them both. My herd stallion -- not Pierce, but the one before Pierce -- said we were once allies with the humans, against the giants. But Pierce said that was a lie, and we have never been allies.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what happened in the past. But I-- I believe you. Are our ally. And I welcome you-- to our herd.”

Tony’s eyes went wide and round as he looked up at Bucky. “Oh. That’s. Wow. I’m, I’m honored. Thank you.”

It wasn’t much of a herd. One sick and weak centaur male, a mated pair, and Bucky. Truthfully, Bucky was probably getting the better part of the deal. “If you wish it, we will have a small welcome ceremony, to claim the house as our herdlands, and to seal our bond.” He was already thinking of the ceremony. It would do all of them some good, to feel secure in the home Tony had built them, like they belonged there and were not overstaying their welcome.

“Yeah? What’s that involve?”

“Steve will make amulets for all of us,” Bucky said, “and there is a small matter of declaring faith and trust to the others. The herdlands are purified by all hands, to make them our own. And then we drink quite a lot until we fall down, and have a huddle.”

Tony laughed. “Well, that doesn’t sound too different from a lot of human rituals, come to think of it. You sure the others won’t mind?”

“I think it will make everyone feel safe,” Bucky said. “Like it is our home, and not that we are unwelcome strangers. If you-- if you want to.” He wondered what it would be like, a human in their huddle. He’d seen some of the townsfolk in very small huddles, usually a mother and her two foals, or once, a trio of human halfling girls who all linked arms and danced around, excited to see each other.

“I would love to,” Tony said, smiling up at him.

“Then it is settled,” Bucky said, because the others were looking to him for leadership. They wouldn’t complain about anything that made the whole situation feel less awkward. Centaur were herd creatures. They lived, or died. Together. “We will do this, together.” And because he was so enthusiastic, and Tony was smiling at him, Bucky pulled him in for a quick huddle. It was a little awkward, bending down so far to get his arms around the human’s shoulders, to tuck his face against Tony’s throat, but-- Up close, Tony didn’t feel all that much different from a centaur.

“Wh-- Okay. Okay, hugging is a thing we do now, all right.” Tony seemed startled, but then relaxed into it, reaching up to wrap his arms around Bucky’s waist.

“You are herd,” Bucky said. “And therefore, we huddle.”

“This is huddling? Right, got it. Humans call it hugging.” Tony patted Bucky’s shoulder. “Nice as it is, you’re going to get a crick in your neck if it goes on too long. We should get back to town.”

“You are a good human,” Bucky told him. “And we should get back to town.”


	4. Chapter 4

Tony knocked on the centaurs’ door and then -- because Bucky had been _very adamant_ that if Tony was part of the herd, then it was his house, too, and he shouldn’t wait to be let in -- opened the door and leaned in a bit. “Hey, you guys home? I brought some of the things Steve said he’d need.”

“We are, indeed, all in attendance,” Bucky said. “Steve is working on the herd-carving. And Sam is brushing out Nat’s tail. She got flat-stickers in it. There are many of them, growing in the woods, and the trails meant for human feet are not always the best path for us. But we will clear them out, eventually.”

The centaurs had, very slowly, started accumulating furniture; not chairs, but shelves and counters seemed to be things they found useful. On one such shelf, Bucky had a basket, an assortment of foodstuffs spread out, and an open book. While Tony watched, he tore out two pages, rolled them up, and ate them.

Tony blinked, nonplussed. “What... what are you doing?”

“One of the town mares-- women, I mean, brought us a basket of foodstuff,” Bucky said, holding out the book, of which it looked as if he’d ripped out about the first third or so of it. “As a welcoming gift. It seems to be the custom. Steve made a number of carvings a few days ago, that we could give back.”

“That’s great, glad you guys are making friends,” Tony said, unable to look away from the book, “but why are you eating--” He leaned closer to peer at the cover. “--oh gods preserve me, you’re eating a _prayerbook?_ ”

“She said it would be good for us,” Bucky said, puzzled. He turned the book over a few times. “It’s not as good as _bread_ , but it’s not bad. Better than pine cones.”

“It’s not--” Tony was startled to realize the shrill whining sound in the air was coming from his own throat. He paused. Took a breath and let it out slowly. Reached over and rescued the book from Bucky’s hand, smoothing the cover over the half-shredded pages. “It’s not for eating. It’s-- The herds don’t have any writing at all?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Bucky said. “What’s… writing?”

“Oh god.” Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s... We make marks. On a surface. Stone, if it’s important enough, but usually something less durable, like paper. Slate, so it can be washed off and done over again. And the marks stand for sounds. If you put the sounds together, you get words. It’s how we... how we communicate with people who can’t hear us -- from a distance, or through time.”

“Like drawing? We draw reminders, on the cave walls. Well, the high priest does. I only know three drawings. I told you about the cave walls, and the pictures of men who rode the centaurs? Yes. Those are big reminders. But I know--” he traced his finger over the curve of his flank, making a mark in the now upraised fur, a simple five pointed star. “This is my name-drawing.”

“Well, that’s. That’s good to know. Yes, sort of like that. But we have drawings for all the words.” He held up the book. “This is a book. It’s full of writing.” He opened it and held it up for Bucky to see. “This is a prayer to the gods of harvest, to ask for blessings on the crop.” He flipped a few pages. “A prayer to the hearth-goddess, to ward off illness.”

“Will the gods be angry that I ate their words?” Bucky worried. “Is it bad luck?”

“I don’t imagine so,” Tony said, sighing. “You didn’t know. You have your own gods, anyway, right? Just... whoever gave this to you, don’t tell her that you ate the book. She may not be so understanding.”

“We have our own gods,” Bucky nodded slowly. “You can see their fires in the sky at night. The Celestial Herd. We are taught their songs when we’re foals. Are these the songs you are taught, to your gods? You will need to teach me this-- writing.”

“Probably not the same songs, but we do have some songs, too. Not everyone can read, but most. I’ll... Yes, I can teach you, if you want to learn. There’s different kinds. The elves and dwarves each have their own writing, and-- Well, we can start with human writing, that’s probably the easiest.”

Bucky put the book back in the basket, wrapping it up in one of the dozens of handkerchiefs that someone else had brought them. “There. She will not ask to look at it, if it is full of the songs she already knows.”

“Likely not,” Tony agreed. He leaned on the counter, laughing weakly. “Visiting you is always a surprise.”

“Seeing you is always a delight,” Bucky said. “Steve will not appreciate being interrupted right now. Let me see what you brought for him, to make our celebration worthy.”

“What?” Tony had nearly forgotten the basket he’d brought with him. “Oh! Yes, here.” He put it up on the counter. “Steve said he’d need clay and good carving wood and leather. A little bit of iron. And the pigments... The weaver had a few of them, but some of them aren’t very common here. We’ll need to go into the city for them.”

“That will be good, then,” Bucky said. “There are some things we need. Herbs, which the hedge-witch said could be gotten in town, and then she said she could also bless them, to help with Steve’s cough. The doctor made him a salve to rub in his chest. It smells very strong of sheep, but it is helping, and we need more.”

Tony nodded. “That’s pretty easy to come by, he makes a lot of that. But we should plan a trip to the city very soon.”

“Is it far?”

“A few days’ travel,” Tony said. He’d made the trip often enough. “I may need to write ahead to secure lodgings for you.”

“Do you walk? I understand that some humans have dumb horses, and that-- if you need to know I will not be offended if you ride one, allow me to say it. Or, I can walk with you, as many leagues as it is. I have galloped to the witch coven and back many times.” 

“That’s good to know. When I go up to the city, usually I go with a lot of orders for things from the townsfolk, so I’ll take a wagon and a horse. The wagon gives me a place to sleep on the road that’s a bit more sheltered than just rolling my blanket under a bush. Will any of the rest of the herd be coming?” Not Steve, Tony assumed; the little centaur was too weak to walk for several days at a time.

“It is unlikely,” Bucky said. “Sam will not wish to leave Nat behind, and someone must stay, in case Steve becomes very ill. So, once again, you are deprived of better company, and must make do with me.”

“I can hardly imagine better company,” Tony said truthfully. “I usually make the trip alone. It will be nice to have company.”

“Then you must spend some time, today, telling me what is of value that we have, that we can trade. I still do not understand _coins_ and _gems_.”

“Certainly. Will you come to the forge with me? We can talk while I complete a few tasks and begin my packing.”

“That sounds grand,” Bucky agreed. “Will you need a lunch? I have made several parcels of food, since we have more than we can eat in a few meals.”

Tony felt warm affection flood him. Bucky was by no means simple or innocent, but he was so guileless and giving. “Thank you.”

Bucky took down two packets from one of the upper shelves. “There is cooked and salted goose,” he said, seriously, “and apples, and oats, and salt. A very good meal.”

He raised his voice, “Sam, Nat, I am going now.” and stamped his hoof several times against the floor, making a dull thump. A moment later, his herd answered him in kind, the knocking against the floor brief. “There. We may go, now.”

* * *

Tony had started the process of teaching Bucky words by writing what he called a _list_ to take with them to the city. He kept baskets of other people’s things -- for trade -- and empty carry-containers to hold goods bought in town. The wagon, which is what such vehicles were called, was stuffed full. Enough to make a centaur herd well provisioned for at least a season.

“I do not understand,” Bucky said, thoughtfully, running his hand through a tight-woven basket full of nuts that belonged to one of the farmers. They were walnuts, the old black coating removed and just the seed pod remained. “Why centaurs do not trade. This seems like a very clever idea.”

“It works out pretty well for us,” Tony said lightly. “It’s said there was a war between our people, generations ago, and the herds haven’t trusted humans much ever since. But you don’t even trade with each other?”

“I mean,” Bucky said, “a little. Most centaurs all need the same things; bows and arrows, leather. Meat and grain and water. The herd-- well, there are many. As many as two hundred head under one herd stallion. Pierce. And then cohorts. Like me and Steve. Some are larger than that. And the cohort provides for other members in the cohort. Plus a share to the herd stallion, based on your status in the herd. Steve and I-- well, we were the least. The lowest status. Bad luck, you know.”

“You’ve been pretty good luck for me,” Tony said easily, hefting another basket into the wagon. “But we do that, too, sort of. Different names, but we have kingdoms, and those are divided into smaller groups, and then _those_ are divided up, and so on. And each level pays taxes or tribute to the next level up.”

“If-- well, Steve and I never had… extra. You know. Not like this. But if we had extra grain, we would just eat it, and I wouldn’t have to hunt. Even if it meant we ate nothing but grain for weeks. No one would give us meat, for grain. We make… our own bows, or our arrowheads. You… you make nails, and you don’t bake bread.”

Bread was still a fascinating concept, and Bucky had been enjoying it greatly. Grain went further, lasted longer. Not as vulnerable to wet and weather and insects. But Tony, he had discovered, traded for bread. He was not, he said, capable of making his own.

“I absolutely do not bake bread,” Tony agreed. “I am a genius with the forge fires. Oven fires... not so much. If I had to bake my own bread, I would probably have starved years ago. Luckily, the town values my skill enough to keep me fed.”

The herd did very little for the others in the herd, aside from mutual protection. If Bucky needed shod, he had to gather his own metals, usually from abandoned human things, or once, he’d offered several of the river stones for metal that the witches had. That was, perhaps, trade. Of a sort. Keeping all the centaurs shod was mutual protection. Everyone had to be able to run if the parliaments or giants attacked.

“It seems a well enough idea,” Bucky said. “So long as you are in your village. What do you-- how do you decide who fights, when you are attacked?” The whole herd was responsible for fighting, except the foals, and the very elderly. He’d nearly lost Steve a few times, to ogre attacks. Steve was not a very good fighter.

Tony wobbled his hand in a way that meant he was going to use the word _complicated_ soon. “Depends on what’s attacking. Rogue monsters or wild animals coming out of the forest, the local hunters will band together. If it’s big -- which doesn’t happen much -- then they might organize some of the other folks. Anyone hale enough to swing scythe or turn a pitchfork. If it’s other humans attacking... well, the noblemen and the king keep soldiers, trained fighters, to protect their territories. Pretty much any grown human can sign up to be a soldier -- they get training and weapons and everything provided for as long as they’re in service, so it’s an attractive option for poorer folk. Or hotheaded youths and glory hunters. If it’s a really _big_ invasion, they’ll conscript people from the villages and towns to be soldiers.” He grinned up at Bucky. “Like everything humans do, it’s complicated.” There it was.

“Before--” Bucky waved a hand. Meaning before everything. Before Pierce became the herd stallion. Sometimes his Ma had talked about that, in the years when she was a filly. “The dwarves came with talk of alliances and _trade_. They-- recruited. Many of the lower cohorts left at their word, to fight with ogres, who were allied with a dragon. For shiny stones and coins and _riches_. My sire, he was one of them. Steve’s, as well. They left… and they never came back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tony said. “Did they drive off the ogres?”

“The ogres didn’t come so far as the herdlands again,” Bucky said, “so, I suppose they must have. Or maybe the dragon ate everyone. I understand dragons are like that sometimes.”

“Or maybe the dragon realized the ogres were going to lose, so it shifted into something unremarkable and snuck away.” There were several races that could change their shapes, but dragons were among the best -- they weren’t limited in the number of shapes they could choose from, and they could hold those shapes for days -- the elder dragons for weeks. Tony looked over the wagon carefully, then nodded to himself and threw a large blanket over the goods. “I think we’re ready to set off. Are you?”

“I will race you to the city and back again,” Bucky said. The dumb horse kept eyeing Bucky suspiciously and Bucky was tempted to kick it, just a little. When Tony wasn’t looking.

Tony laughed as he stepped on a spoke of the wagon’s wheel and pulled himself up into the driver’s seat. “You’d win too easily; I’ve got a wagon to haul, here.”

There was something pleasant about traveling with a destination in mind, Bucky decided. Unlike the herds, which moved according to whim and weather, going where the grazing was good. The road was firm and easy under his hooves -- it didn’t hurt that Tony had reshod all of them in the first few weeks after their arrival, and not a single nail was loose or broken, or badly mended. 

Tony had several pouches of water with them, and another piece of human paper that he called a _map_. Which apparently showed Tony where the rivers were, and if they were guarded by Kelpie or nyads or not. Bucky couldn’t figure out how the piece of paper showed the ground, but Tony said he would pick it up, once they got to the first river.

(Bucky wasn’t sure what he was supposed to pick up there, either. It was not like, even as strong as Bucky was, he could lift the river. But maybe he could talk to the Kelpie, if there was one.)

The dumb horse was restless and a little skittish for the first few miles, but then settled a little, putting its head down and plodding down the road. It seemed unbearably slow, but Tony kept up a chatter as they went, pointing out the farmsteads of people Bucky had met, and an oddly-shaped tree stump, scarred by lightning, and a particularly pretty spray of flowers. He asked questions endlessly about life amongst the herd, as if he found even the most mundane details fascinating.

The river was interesting, and Tony flattened out the map again, to show Bucky-- “this line, indicates the river, and this is the road, and here’s the bridge.”

Bucky scowled at the piece of paper a few times, and it was like trying to lift some incredible weight with _his brain_. How could lines mean a river, which was water and fish and--

_This symbol,_ his Ma told him _, is your name._

“Wait, wait,” he said, closing his eyes, because lifting the weight was so hard-- “the line… is like the name for river, on the paper. It’s not the river, but it means… _river_. This is the river, and this is the path it takes, across the road?”

“Yes, exactly!” Tony threw an arm around Bucky’s shoulders -- on the wagon seat, his head was almost level with Bucky’s -- and squeezed happily. “It’s a little bit like... if I were a bird, flying high, high up near the clouds, what would the land look like?”

“I bet the harpy flocks could give you a better idea,” Bucky said. He still didn’t think the lines looked very much like the road or the river. But then, the star didn’t much look like Bucky, either, and that was what it _meant_.

The bridge was another wonder, human-made and stronger even than the houses in the village. There wasn’t sign of Kelpie in the river, either, just a little troll under the bridge that scampered away and growled at Bucky when he peered under the bridge to look. Still, Bucky let Tony and the wagon go across first, before Bucky set hoof on the thing. 

He wasn’t sure he trusted it.

The dumb horse didn’t care for it much, either, shying a little at the hollow clatter of its hooves, but Tony clucked at it and muttered soothing encouragement, and soon enough they were across, back on solid ground. He glanced back and raised his eyebrows at Bucky. “You coming?”

Bucky didn’t like the way it felt, the wood under his hooves, the feel of air beneath the wood. His steps echoed oddly and he could hear the river moving under that.

With a sharp snort, he darted across, not quite galloping, but close enough, moving as if he were being chased, and the echo of his own hoofbeats followed him across.

“I don’t like it,” he said, looking back at the bridge. “How do you know the human that built it can be trusted to do good work?”

“Well, for one thing, the bridge is still standing,” Tony said, looking amused. “If it wasn’t solid work, it would’ve been discovered before now, I’d think.”

“I suppose so,” Bucky said. Logically, it made sense. Tony didn’t weigh more than Bucky did, but Tony and the dumb horse and the wagon and its cargo probably weighted as much as Bucky and Nat and Sam all at the same time. It would be safe enough. Tony wouldn’t trust the belongings of all his friends in the village to unsound wood and struts, would he?

“You humans are much cleverer than the herd stallion gives you credit,” Bucky admitted.

Tony laughed. “From what you’ve told me of him, that’s a low bar to get over. But thank you.”

“You build so many things,” Bucky said. “I don’t know that I can even see them all, much less remember them.”

“You don’t have to,” Tony said easily. “They’ll still be there, whether you remember or not. Sometimes I think we build too many things. Bridges and houses and barns, those make sense. Forges and wells and markets. But palaces and big, fancy houses -- what purpose do they serve, except to say that the person who lives there is important?”

“Everyone is important to someone,” Bucky said. “I am important to Steve, and Sam is important to Nat, and you are important to me. These things don’t change, no matter how big, or how small, our _house_ is.”

“Exactly my point,” Tony agreed. “We build things just to make ourselves seem more important than we actually are. Or to try to make ourselves more important. To show off.”

“Like Rumlow,” Bucky muttered. “If centaur built houses, his would be very large. To hold all of his good opinions about himself.”

Tony laughed, delighted. “Rumlow, he’s the smith, right? The one who likes to be rough?”

“Yes,” Bucky said. “He is very rude. He said, once to Steve, he didn’t need to gallop faster than the owlbears, but only faster than _Steve_.” Bucky shuddered, his tail flicking from side to side to shoo away invisible flies. “As if I would leave Steve behind.”

“You’re better off without him, then,” Tony said, huffing indignantly. “And Pierce, too. If they didn’t value you, then they don’t deserve you.”

Bucky let his chest puff out a little and trotted along beside the cart, lifting his hooves extra high, a show of pride and delight, which had gotten him very positive attention in the village the few times he’d done it. Showing off, maybe. Just a little. Bucky liked it when Tony looked at him with approval and delight. “Well, if they hadn’t, then I would not have met you,” Bucky said. He was pretty sure the small centaur herd was contributing to their village. Sam hunted rather a lot, and both Bucky and Sam -- equipped now with Tony’s long-wheat cutters -- were much in demand to help with the farming.

“And that would have been a shame. I never thought I’d have a friend like you.” Tony smiled warmly at him.

Bucky glanced at him slyly. “You imagine so much, I must say, I don’t know that I believe that, entirely. I envision a foal-aged Tony playing on his toy dumb horse and imaginging he _is_ a centaur.”

The toy horses -- a narrow stick with a stuffed bag of straw on one end -- had been endlessly fascinating to Bucky’s tiny herd.

“I admit nothing!” Tony laughed, a faint blush climbing his neck.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony made the trip to the city at least once a year -- usually in high summer, when it was entirely too hot to want to be working over the forge anyway. He’d long since established his routine, and having Bucky along didn’t alter it much, though having someone to talk to did make the time pass much easier.

The first night, while he was still out on the outskirts of the kingdom, the towns and villages widely spaced, Tony slept on the side of the road. The summer nights made for pleasant sleeping under jeweled stars, and if it rained, he could just roll under the wagon for shelter.

Bucky had just nodded when Tony explained. The centaur had only had a roof over his head for a few weeks, after all; sleeping outdoors was probably more familiar, still. This late in the summer, the chance of rain was a little higher, but it had been a bright, clear day, so Tony had tethered the horse and spread his blanket on the grass without concern.

He’d been a little startled when Bucky folded down onto the ground next to him -- but it was probably ridiculous to think that centaurs slept standing up, wasn’t it? Their necks were human-shaped, they couldn’t just drop them and be comfortable. Tony had watched with some interest as Bucky piled up a bundle of tradegoods from the wagon to support his top half in a sort of fainting-couch shaped bed.

“Huh, that’s how that works,” he’d commented, and then tucked his hands under his head to look up at the stars until he fell asleep.

Waking up came a little slower, the gradual awareness that the sky was getting light and the birds were singing and the horse was nickering and trying to shake off the lead to reach more grass.

Tony was warm, much warmer than usual, and no longer lying quite flat, and it was that, more than anything else, that pried his eyelids open.

Sometime during the night, he’d apparently scooted closer to Bucky, and then tucked himself right up against Bucky’s side, using the broad, warm horse-half like a sofa or a couch, sprawling himself back against that soft, smooth hide.

Shit. That was... probably really rude. Tony wondered if he could casually roll back over onto the ground without waking Bucky.

The centaur flicked his tail, soft strands brushing over Tony’s skin and shooing away the few bugs that were still out first thing in the morning. Not mosquitos, although as Tony took self-inventory, he seemed to have quite a few less bites than normal. 

Huh. Maybe that was it. Bucky’s tail moved in even motions, keeping his Tony-free side unoccupied by bugs, and then flicked to the other side, an entirely unconscious activity. 

Bucky snorted, a very horsey sort of sound, and then nickered softly, before opening his eyes. He stretched his human half in a yawn, and twisted his spine, which made some very disturbing crackling noises, before apparently noticing Tony at all. “Oh, good morning, then,” he said, reaching out one hand and flicking his fingers through Tony’s hair, as if trying to make it lay down.

“Uh, yes. Good morning. You’re not-- I mean, sorry, I shouldn’t have invaded your space like that.” Tony sat up, rubbing at his face and his chest. “Though in my defense, I was asleep.”

Bucky looked around, confused. “I thought out of doors didn’t belong to anyone. It’s certainly not mine.”

“What? It doesn’t. I mean, technically, this is-- I just meant, I shouldn’t have used you for a pillow. You don’t seem too upset, so that’s good, but really, if you’d rather I didn’t, I can, I dunno, make some kind of barrier, or--”

“Don’t be silly,” Bucky said. “You are part of my herd, part of my cohort. Where else should you sleep? When together, centaurs sleep thus.” He held out his fists, thumbs extended as if to indicate necks, and they slept head to tail, using the other to rest their human halves on. “This is most comfortable, and lets us keep the flies off.”

“Yes, I noticed that part, that was nice.” Tony hadn’t really considered how centaurs must sleep in their herds, but now that he was thinking about it, that seemed entirely logical. “Okay. Sorry I can’t, you know, provide the other half of the geometry. Maybe I could rig something.” He considered the goods piled into the wagon.

Bucky pushed up onto his hooves, whole body shaking itself out. “Is-- you were surprised,” he said. “Do humans not sleep together?”

“Not without asking first,” Tony said. “Couples, you know, like Sam and Natasha, they sleep together. And little kids sometimes share with their parents.. But it’s pretty rare outside of that.”

“Huh,” Bucky said, scratching his chin. “That seems very lonely. What do you do when the dreams come? But-- you may sleep with me, whenever you like, Tony.”

Tony made a mental note to explain a few turns of phrase to the centaur later. “That’s, that’s very kind. Thank you. Definitely more comfortable than sleeping on the ground. What dreams?”

“Night terrors,” Bucky said. “Do humans not get them?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a thing for humans, too. We call them nightmares. There’s a whole legend about a horse that belongs to the god of the underworld and...” He trailed off with a somewhat sheepish shrug. “I’m sorry you get them. But I guess it’s good that you’ve got a friend close at hand when they happen.”

“Yes,” Bucky said, darkly. “We are all familiar with that mare. She is said to be our distant ancestor, and visits us.”

“Huh. Yeah, all right, I can see that, I guess.” Tony got up and stretched, and started rolling his blanket back up to stash it in the wagon. “Can you dig out some breakfast for us while I get the horse hitched up?”

“I certainly can,” Bucky said. “I can even make your coffee.” 

Watching the centaur kneeling on the ground to make up a fire was somewhat amusing, but Bucky waved off his offer of help. “I can do this, I have done this.”

“If you say so,” Tony said, laughing. He went about trying to get the somewhat recalcitrant horse back into the traces and hooked up to the wagon. “You ate that whole huge circle of grass,” he told it seriously when it tried nosing at his pockets to look for treats. “You don’t need anything else.”

“No,” Bucky said, “but he is quite sure you’re holding out on him. There’s some dried apple in your pocket.”

Tony stretched up on his toes to peer at Bucky over the horse’s back. “How do you know that?”

“Half guess,” Bucky admitted, blowing on the fire. He got it going and hung the pot over it to boil. “And half smell. I can smell apple on you, and as I haven’t seen it, your pocket is the best guess.”

“Wow, that’s an impressive sense of smell. Does it make it hard, living in the town?”

“It is-- better now that I understand about _houses_ , and what belongs to people. But our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Summers, they were very grateful when Steve noticed their _pie_ burning. It was only a little singed, and not ruined. Sometimes it is a lot of smells, all at once. And we were all very worried at first that we wouldn’t hear, or smell, or even _see_ , if owlbears came, but-- they have not, and we are less worried now.”

“They mostly avoid the town,” Tony agreed. “Sometimes the hunters will encounter them, deep in the woods.”

“It is good,” Bucky said. “And we are much safer, warmer, and better fed than we’ve ever been. For quite a lot less working for it. I… sometimes think about going back to the herdlands, but I don’t think any of the others would come.”

An odd spike of pain radiated out from the center of Tony’s chest. “Go back? Why?”

“The herds are my people,” Bucky said, dropping a bundle of ground coffee tied in cheesecloth into the pot. “There are so many things we could show them, teach them. Not all the human ways are good ways, but-- Pierce would never allow it.”

“Maybe someday you will be strong enough that you can ignore Pierce,” Tony said, trying to be comforting. The reasoning was sound, but Tony... didn’t want to lose his friend. “I hope if you ever go, you will come back and visit.”

Bucky pushed himself up from his kneeling position to move over near Tony. “I would not go to _stay_ ,” he said. “How could I, when you have valued us all, much more than the herd ever did? How could I leave you behind? My friend, _truly_. You look as if you need a huddle, so I will ask. Do you wish it?”

“Yes,” Tony said, and if it came out somewhat thick and rough for having to be forced through a too-tight throat, no one else was here to hear it. He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist and laid his head against Bucky’s stomach. “I would miss you,” he admitted. “Very much.”

“I would miss you, too,” Bucky said. “Always so full of questions, to make me think, and observations to make me wonder. I am proud to call you friend, when I never thought any human could be a _friend_. Here, your coffee is ready, you will feel better with something to drink, and a little bread with jam. Yes?”

“Yes, probably.” Tony took the cup and took a quick gulp, scalding his tongue a bit but glad for the dark flavor. He watched Bucky retrieve the bread and a small jar of jam and couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at his lips, or the warm glow that filled his chest, chasing away the earlier pain like morning mist.

* * *

Bucky had thought the village was full of activity, noise, and smells, and people.

He had been very, very wrong.

The city -- and Tony told him that this was a very small city, in fact -- was so full of people that Bucky could barely see anything else.

He wasn’t the only non-human -- an entire flock of cervitaurs took over the streets for a few minutes, handing out their flowering blessings and leaving rather a lot of deer pellets in their wake -- which was good. Two oak dyads made their way ponderously across the bridge and into the city. And Bucky was quite convinced he’d seen a cadre of goblins before they’d turned a corner.

He was so busy craning his neck to see everything all at once, he almost trotted right over one of the city guards.

“Watch where you’re going!” the guard snapped.

“Sorry,” Tony intervened, leaning over from the wagon seat. “He’s never been anywhere like this before. I’ll help him keep an eye on the path.”

“How does anyone know -- anything?” Bucky marveled. “Who drinks from which well, how do you find the blacksmith, why-- why does that street go nowhere at all, there are two doors down there, what --” 

Tony laughed fondly. “So many questions, I can’t answer any of them if you don’t at least take a breath between each one.”

“Where are we going, now that we are here?” That seemed the first, best question, although he would also save questions about the tunnels he could feel under his hooves, and how did men build buildings so tall, and why-- it made no sense to block out the whole sky with brick and mortar.

“I have a friend who lives here,” Tony said. “He usually lets me stay with him, when I visit. That might not be possible, this time, but he’d probably know where we should look for an inn that can accommodate you. And he’ll let me keep the horse and the cart in his stable, at least.” Tony turned down one street, slowing their already-sluggish pace as children darted past them, running the other way.

Bucky leaned in toward a dwelling, the window sill a few inches open, holding a saucer of milk, bread, and a little honey. “Are there brownies here? How did you build buildings so tall?” Before he knew it, he’d gotten carried away with questions again. Tony laughed and answered some of them. At his direction, they turned out of the main plaza toward one of the quieter sides of the city, the buildings had a little space between them for flowers and bushes and fences.

Tony made several more turns -- Bucky had no idea how he knew where to go, everything was so confusing -- before finally pulling to a stop. He handed off the dumb horse’s reins to Bucky. “Here, hold him a sec, would you?” He jumped down from the wagon to knock on one of the doors.

Bucky looked down at the leather in his hand, and then at the dumb horse. The horse, chewing absently on the piece of metal in his mouth that made him turn as Tony directed, did not seem to have an opinion on being held. As far as the dumb horse was concerned, the wagon was heavy and wasn’t currently in need of being pulled, and it was satisfied with this situation. 

And wanted a lump of sugar.

“Do you even understand words,” Bucky muttered to it, using the emphasis of ear flicks, tail twitches and hoof stamps that he’d learned as a colt. Secondary to words, but used to amplify meaning, or show respect.

The dumb horse flicked an ear at him. _Whatever._

Bucky kept his hand on the rein and turned around. It wouldn’t do to have Tony see him attempting to debate with a mere animal.

Just as he turned, the door to the house opened to reveal a human, somewhat taller than Tony, with dark skin and sharp eyes.

“Honeycomb!” Tony cried joyfully, flinging himself into a huddle with the man, who looked somewhat startled but readily returned it.

“Tones,” he said, “where’ve you been? It’s almost autumn, I was beginning to worry.”

“It’s been a busy summer,” Tony said. His arm stayed around the man’s -- Honeycomb? -- waist as he indicated Bucky. “This is Bucky. He and a few others have moved into the village. I’ve been helping them settle in. Buck, this is Rhodey, my dear friend.”

“Tony has been of great assistance,” Bucky agreed. “It is unlikely we would have survived the season, without his aid. Any friend to him can call at once upon my aid and good name.”

“Likewise,” Rhodey said, disentangling himself from Tony to offer Bucky a hand. “Though I have to admit I’m not entirely prepared to host four-feets.” He nudged Tony. “If you’d sent word ahead, I could have partitioned off one of the stalls and made it fit for sentient use.”

“Weren’t any messengers coming this way, the last few weeks,” Tony said with a shrug. “We’ll stay in one of the inns. What’s nearby and least likely to cheat us?”

Bucky knew that Tony’s friend had not intended to be insulting; human dwellings being what they were. He’d not even been inside _Tony’s_ home, just stuck his head in through the window from time to time to talk. The forge, of course, was large enough for him, and for Tony, and for at least two other centaurs all at the same time. And the local tavern had been slightly reorganized to allow for the occasional herd-night-out.

“The cervitaur herd must stay somewhere,” Bucky said. “I saw them with their blessing flowers. Do they have a temple?”

There were sometimes moots between the centaurs and the cervitaurs. Celebrations and holy days that they shared. It had been a long time, but Bucky still knew some of their words and most of their rituals.

“Yeah, I think so, over by the park,” Rhodey said. “Try the Tree and Sheaf, I think they have rooms for four-feets. Though we don’t see a lot of centaurs.”

“Centaurs don’t trust humans,” Bucky said. “Generally, you won’t see us.” Except on the other side of a battlefield, or when the herds were in retreat. And the world passed us by, Bucky thought, looking out at the city again. “But some few of us -- have learned a few things about men. And about trust.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Rhodey said. “Tony’s good people.”

Tony spent some time unloading the goods and putting the dumb horse into Rhodey’s stable -- Bucky shuddered, looking in, but even he had to admit it was clean, and the floor lined with fresh straw, and Tony’s dumb horse seemed happy there. “Walk with us, then, to the inn,” Bucky suggested, since Tony had been talking nonstop since they got there, eager to share with his friend. Bucky felt a little strange about that, in a way he hadn’t before. As Tony huddled with the man, and looked at him, tongue rattling away.

Bucky wasn’t sure what it was. An uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, like he’d bitten an apple and found-- half a worm.

Tony didn’t seem to notice, but as they set out for the inn, Tony’s other hand came up to rest lightly against Bucky’s side, just over his foreleg, and the feeling didn’t quite disappear, but it eased somewhat.

And then Tony was talking to his friend about the _herd_ , about re-shoeing them and disparaging Rumlow’s work and his efforts to design a new shoe meant to fit centaur hooves and the house he’d designed in the village for them.

“We are here,” Bucky said, “to trade raw materials for _coins_ , and _coins_ for different materials. It-- it makes sense, a little. Because I have many bundles of feathers and no need for pillows. But sometimes it seems very cumbersome to remember the value of a thing that does not provide meat or grain or shelter.”

“Truth told, it’s a little cumbersome on this end, too,” Rhodey said, “even if we have uses for a lot more things. You got any quill-feathers in those bundles? I could use a few fresh quills.”

“A few, though some of them are probably broken,” Tony said. “I’ll pull a few for you before we go to market. Though while we’re here, we should also see about stopping in at the jeweller’s to trade for your rocks,” he added to Bucky.

The Tree and Sheaf did, indeed, have several rooms suitable for non-human use, and the taproom was full of sentients of every sort imaginable. Gnomes and dwarves, elves and ents. And a minotaur, bovine head and horns fierce, who was eating a thick, grain stew that smelled strongly of corn and made Bucky hungry just smelling it. 

Tony twisted through the taproom and found a table open toward the back, making room at it for Bucky by dint of pulling one chair away entirely. He dropped into one of the remaining chairs and waved at the server. “Round of drinks,” he said when she made her way over, “house special for dinner, and a room for me and the centaur.” He dropped several coins into her hand.

At least this inn had glasses for horse and minotaur sized patrons, too, instead of the bucket that Bucky was accustomed to. The platters of foodstuff came with some variety and Bucky found that he liked fried fish very much, and pickled beets not at all.

The ale was strong and the company grand, even if Bucky did find his eye drawn back to the minotaur several times, watching him with no small amount of what might be considered species hostility. Minotaur herds tended to be enormous, and they ran from field to field, eating everything in their path like a plague of locusts.

There was no love lost between the herd-peoples.

Tony glanced over once, following Bucky’s gaze, as he swapped Bucky’s beets for his tomatoes. “You know that guy or something?”

“Not-- personally, no,” Bucky said. “Centaur and minotaur do not get along. He may challenge me.” Minotaurs, all animal stubborn and stupid, and the breeding stamina of rabbits. They were as numerous as they were aggressive. Probably not the best place for Bucky to pick a fight, either.

“We can take ‘im if he starts something,” Tony opined. “But he looks to be here without the support of his herd, so just ignore him, probably.”

“This is good,” Bucky said. “A whole herd of minotaur are not something even the tide can stand against.”

Dinner over, the innkeeper took them to a fair-sized room, not quite as large as the ones in Bucky’s house back in the village, but almost. She displayed the mechanism for the bed, which tucked up into the wall when not in use, and also several things she called _couches_ and allowed Bucky to select one to sleep on, a curved cushion with a hard base that was lighter and less prone to shifting than Tony’s trade goods, and much softer than the resting stones in the centaur caves.

“This is _incredible_ ,” Bucky said, settling down onto it as soon as the innkeeper went away again.

“Yeah?” Tony promptly sat on the floor next to it, running one hand over the shape of it, memorizing it. “I think I could make something like this. Well, I’d need some help with the cushions. But the base, I can do this, when we get home.”

“It’s lovely,” Bucky said. “I may lay down and never move again.” He demonstrated that desire, flopping onto the cushion with glee.

Tony laughed as he unfolded the bed and straightened the blankets on it. “We can probably sleep in a little, tomorrow. We’ve been on the road for several days.”

Bucky shifted a little on his couch and wondered why it seemed so odd suddenly that Tony was so far away. They were in the same room, barely had to whisper to be heard, and yet… 

Bucky grumbled a little and pushed the couch over, getting to his feet and moving it until the two sleeping places were side by side. That was almost stranger, because when Tony rolled over on his mattress to face Bucky, they were, in fact, exactly level, faces only a few inches apart.

“Huh,” Bucky said, not quite sure-- that weird feeling in his stomach was back, although it was different this time. Not dread, but something else entirely.

Tony reached across the small space between them to take Bucky’s hand and squeeze it. “Okay?”

“I’m with you,” Bucky said, deciding it was very _nice_ , actually, to be this close to Tony, to… be equal with Tony. “Of course I’m okay.”


	6. Chapter 6

The dwarven mining guild was more like an enclave than a single building. Like Tony, dwarves were builders, shapers, dreamers and makers. Unlike Tony, they had some sort of natural earth-shaping abilities that let them build impossible edifices.

Underground.

The enclave was gated off, and the entrance was an enormous, ornate, gold and platinum inlaid entryway.

Which didn’t change the fact that it was _underground_.

“You’re okay,” Rhodey said, and it was more like a question than a statement. The dwarves were Tony’s last resort, really, but none of the human moneylenders or gold-exchequers had been the least bit interested in doing business with a centaur. And while Tony would represent Bucky’s interests, it would be better for Bucky and the herd if they could, in time, lead their own bargains.

Bucky was child-like, sometimes, but he wasn’t a child.

“I’m okay,” Tony said. It was at least half bravado, but what choice did he have? This was where the dwarves did their business with the city.

The guildhall was dwarf-built, Tony reminded himself. Sturdy, solid, no matter the apparent delicacy of the stone arches and airy walkways. It took a dragon’s strength to make a dwarf-built wall come down if the dwarves weren’t ready for it to fall.

“I’m okay,” he repeated and stepped forward, through the shining arch, and into the guildhall.

A dwarven page, barely into her sixties based on the single braids down her sideburns and the barely-there beard, bowed to them. “How can I direct you today?” she asked, managing to look down her nose at them, despite the fact that even Tony was a good eight inches or so taller than she was. “I am called Hill.” 

“Thank you for your assistance, Hill,” Tony said carefully. Dwarves could be -- if they were of a mind -- extremely formal and fussy. He very carefully did not look up at the faint echo of his voice against the high ceilings. Do not insult the architect, he reminded himself. “My companion--” He gestured toward Bucky. “--has some gems which, while not of dwarf extraction and likely therefore flawed, may still be worth a few coins.”

Hill gave a quick, dwarven salute, one that Tony saw frequently when the dwarves ventured above ground. The dwarf equivalent of _hi_ , he’d been told. She gave a different gesture to Bucky and said-- something. 

Bucky’s eyes widened briefly; shocked, and then he sank into a graceful bow, practically touching his forehead to the floor, which looked to Tony like it would hurt his back. Seriously, Tony’s spine ached in sympathy. Bucky returned the greeting in the same language, then made an apologetic gesture. “I don’t speak the old language very well,” he said, “but I am honored.”

“You may come with me,” Hill said. 

There was an entire city underneath the human city, no matter how the gateway made it look small from the surface, thick with buildings, and teeming with dwarves and gnomes, a few gnolls, and a handful of the underhill folk, pixies and brownies and the like. Mushrooms, like flowers, grew in beds alongside the street and mossy vegetation wrapped around slender columns.

Gnomish inventions made life easier; everywhere Tony looked there were clockworks and windups and steamdriven machines.

The streets were lined with a gridwork of lit panels that seemed to indicate directions, to anyone who could understand it. Tony and Rhodey’s footsteps were lost in the general noise and shuffle, but Bucky’s hooves rang out on the metal and stone streets like a bell.

“Here is Son of Coul,” Hill said, finally, leading them to a white marble building. “He will attend you. In two turns, I will be back to lead you back to the gates.”

Tony had no idea how long a turn was, but he guessed it would be enough time to do their business. He wondered if it would afford him time enough to examine more closely a few of the gnomish devices. “Thank you, Hill; your assistance has been most useful.” He waited until she had turned back down the road before glancing at Bucky. “What did she say to you?”

“She said I have the look of my sire,” Bucky said. He scuffed his hoof against the floor a few times, as if counting. Stopped. Started again, like he was planning to try to dig a little hole.

“Huh, that’s different.” He watched Bucky’s hoof dig at the stone. “She-- Does that mean she knew him? Was she one of the ones who asked for help with the dragon?” Tony glanced back down the street, though she was long gone. “She didn’t seem old enough.” He put a hand on Bucky’s side. “Are you okay?”

Bucky stamped down, as if scolding his own leg. “I’m all right,” he said. “I haven’t seen my sire in a long time. It’s strange to be recognized.”

Son of Coul was a strange dwarf with a clean-shaven chin and gently receding hairline. He had a very mild smile and blue eyes the same color as the sun on a winter day. He also had a coiled expectancy to him that might have been easily missed.

This was not a sentient to ignore, more dangerous than he seemed.

“What can the Order of Shield do for you, gentles?” He waved a hand at stone benches around his desk. Tony guessed they didn’t move the furniture around much.

“My companion has gems to sell,” Tony said, “if they might be judged to be of some worth.” He nudged Bucky lightly. “Show him.” The sooner they could finish this, the sooner they could be out of these caves.

Unlike with the humans, only one of whom had even asked to see the gems before saying they didn’t think they could do business, Son of Coul spread a velvet cloth over his desk to protect and display the stones, putting on a set of jewelers' glasses.

Bucky upended his pouch into the center of the cloth, spilling the uncut gems out. 

“River born,” Son of Coul said, “and not mined at all.” He picked up one, held it to the light, peering at it. The glasses made his eyes look huge and swimmy.

“I don’t know much of gems,” Tony admitted, “except as decoration. What does that mean?”

“Many things,” Son of Coul said. “But primarily, that this is not an issue that needs to be taken up with the Claims committee. River born gems are unclaimed. We’ve had a number of claim jumpers in recent decades, especially in older, currently unworked mines. Abandoned for whatever reason, and other sentients try to reopen them, taking scraps, barely worth the effort, but putting themselves and the tunnels in danger.”

Tony shuddered at the thought. “So can you... trade for these, then?”

“We can,” Son of Coul said. “Freely and with good will.” He held up another, peering at it. “They’re remarkably clear, for river stones. Nicely tumbled, not many inclusions. Easily cut, shaped, or used in mechanics. Do you prefer ingots or coin?”

Bucky glanced at Tony, then said, “My herd is very slowly learning the value of coin. I do not think it wise to add a third method of counting our wealth at this time.”

“Coin, then,” Tony agreed. “The herd is living amongst a mostly human community; human-standard weights and purity would be preferred.” Located as it was under a human city, that shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange.

Son of Coul pulled out a gorgeous abacus, inlaid with gold and pearl, the numbers delineated by matching semi-precious gemstones. He took his time, looking at each of Bucky’s gems, before clicking the side of the abacus, which worked the mechanisms inside. “One of these seasons,” he muttered, “I am going to purchase a calculations engine.”

“That sounds handy,” Tony said. “Gnomish?”

Coul nodded “Yes. Very handy. It can run calculations accurately out to seventeen places past the decimal. And it is only about the size of my desk.”

Finally, Coul finished with his task. He pushed together a small pile. “These are all but worthless. I might advise looking into speaking with a witch. Sometimes they use stones as a way to hold temporary spells. These would be adequate to that task. These others--” He pointed to the larger stack. “-- we will be very interested in purchasing them from you. Forty-three percent of value is our standard offering, granting no previous agreements or treaties. For these, we will offer a sum of eighty-thousand florins, thirty dinari, and twelve lira. This stone,” he said, finally, indicating one bright blue gem around the size of Tony’s thumbnail, “is, in fact, a petrified dragon scale, and while valuable, you will get a better price for it elsewhere.”

Eighty-thousand florins would buy damn near half the village. Tony took a moment to absorb that, then made sure to keep his voice steady as he turned to Bucky to ask, “Do you know if your sire’s agreement with the dwarves included any purchase clauses?” And a petrified dragon scale, by all the gods. They would have to ask at the wizard’s college or the alchemist’s guild for that.

“My sire was Barnes,” Bucky said. “Some two decades ago, he went south with a band of dwarven adventurers and soldiers. He did not return, but I don’t know-- what agreements were made.”

Coul scratched his chin. “We would have records, especially that you know the date. It is unlikely that any arrangements would have neglected such an important detail. I can have Hill pull the appropriate files and give you an updated offer by tomorrow, noon?”

Bucky laughed, nervous, sounding almost like a whicker. “Chances are very good that my sire would have eaten, rather than signed, an agreement.”

“The dwarves will have kept the records anyway,” Tony said. He didn’t even have to glance over at Son of Coul for confirmation. The dwarves’ memories were as long-lasting as the stone they worked. “Noon tomorrow would be agreeable,” he told Son of Coul. “Can you have it sent to us at the Tree and Sheaf, or should we return?” He suppressed a shudder.

“I will send Hill out,” Son of Coul said. “She deserves an adventure. In the meanwhile, I’ll get the writ, which you can negotiate with any of the banker guilds you frequent. Dwarven script is ironclad. Do you need a small advance for petty purchase?”

“A small amount,” Tony agreed, because there wasn’t a true banking guild representative in the village. “Say, two hundred florins, in varied coin.” It was well more than Tony would need in a year, but the centaurs ate rather more than Tony did, and did not -- yet -- have as much to trade with. The rest, they would place with a banker’s guild and draw upon whenever they made the trip into the city.

“Remain here, I will make arrangements and be back,” Son of Coul said, and he vanished through the back door.

“I-- the florins are the yellow coins, yes?” Bucky wondered. “Is the herd _wealthy_?” 

“Yes,” Tony agreed, flashing Bucky a smile. “Quite wealthy, indeed. Don’t worry; I’ll help you.”

“You will have to show me how much _steel_ a florin can be traded for,” Bucky said.

“Is he even for real, Tones?” Rhodey wondered, contributing to the conversation for the first time. “ _Steel_?” 

Tony shrugged. “Centaurs are practical people, sugarlump. Steel makes shoes and nails and scythes and arrowheads and swords. Makes starting a fire easier. Gold won’t do any of that for you.”

“Huh,” Rhodey said. “Be easier to romance a gal with a handful of horseshoe nails than a diamond ring.”

Tony glanced at his friend sharply. “You got a girl you’re looking to romance, pixiedust? And you didn’t tell me? I’m hurt.”

Rhodey shrugged, rolled his eyes very deliberately at Bucky. “I’m not the only one keeping secrets. But yes, if you promise not to embarrass me, I might think about inviting her to dinner tonight.”

“I make no such promises,” Tony said gleefully, “but I’ll behave myself until at least dessert, and then you can tell her I was in my cups, if you like.” He did a little dance, so utterly delighted that he couldn’t keep still. Rhodey deserved someone special, needed someone to care for.

Finally, laden-down with a pouch of gold, silver, nickel and copper, they were taken to the surface, writ in hand for the remainder of the stones. Hill assured them that if no agreements were found with the centaurs, it wouldn’t change the payment, but if there were prior agreements, they would deliver the additional monies at once.

Dwarves were a strange, sometimes secretive lot, but they had built their empire on their honor, as much as on their stones. A dwarf did not lie. If a thing was written down, it was fact.

Bucky, who had some idea of what the coins were worth, was eager to buy a few tidbits and delights for the rest of the herd, so they headed to the open markets.

“What are you _doing_ , Tony?” Rhodey pulled him back until Bucky had gone ahead a little.

“What do you mean?” Tony fingered a bolt of fabric. “I’m shopping.”

“You don’t-- shop,” Rhodey said, “looking like someone’s just thocked you in the head with a hammer. You _like_ him. Your centaur.”

“What? He’s my friend, of course I like him. And excuse me for being a little flabbergasted that the _pretty rocks_ he randomly collected turned out to be worth my entire forge and everything in it _several times over_ , that’s pretty astonishing news.” The cloth was excellently woven and beautifully dyed; he made a note of the stall location so he could come back when he had the inventory for his trade goods on him.

“Tony,” Rhodey’s voice was so gentle as to be a blow. “You know that’s not what I mean. Be sensible.”

Tony glance down the road to make sure that Bucky was still within sight but well out of hearing. “What do you want me to do, Rhodey? He’s a _centaur_ , it’s not... It’ll pass.”

“Will it?” Rhodey sighed. “Don’t know that you need to do _anything_. Except maybe take caution. It wouldn’t be the first match between the races. Half-elves, half dwarves, exist. The last elf king in the west had a long standing relationship with an Atlantean. But you should know, that’s not an easy choice, to do justice to a romance between species.”

“There’s no _choice_ to be made,” Tony muttered. “He’s a quadruped; just how do you imagine that’s going to even _work?_ ” He shook his head, trying to clear it of the images that had suddenly formed. “We’re friends. I’m grateful to have that much. That’s all.”

“Well, maybe so, Tony,” Rhodey said. “But I see the way you look at him. And what’s more, I see the way he looks at you.”

“He doesn’t-- He’s only been living with humans for a few months,” Tony said. “He thinks I’m clever with my hands and relies on me to explain strange human things to him. There’s no romance there.”

Rhodey just shrugged, his eyes saying a lot more that Tony didn’t want to hear. And he let one of the shopkeepers change the subject, asking for Tony’s opinion on the craftsmanship of a carved wood box with a tiny music box and even tinier dancer inside. 

Tony examined the little thing in detail and got into a discussion with the shopkeeper about the mechanism, because it was fascinating and beautiful, not because he was avoiding Rhodey’s looks. Certainly not because he was trying to avoid thinking about... anything.

* * *

Bucky discovered any number of remarkable things in the market: silks and velvets in rich colors and wide bolts, ribbons for adornment, knives and sheaths, an entire market stall dedicated to leather bags and satchels and packets of pockets that could store and organize the things that Bucky wanted to carry with him. He found musical instruments and paid a human girl a few copper pennies to draw a picture on his hind quarter with chalk that would last until he forgot about it and brushed up against something. He bought some of the chalks as well, thinking Steve might like them, or that Nat would like decorating her own fur.

But mostly what he discovered was that, once again, Tony did not realize how sharp Bucky’s hearing was.

It was too noisy in the city, hundreds of humans and dozens of others shouting and talking and carrying on, to catch every word, but enough to know that they were speaking _about_ Bucky.

Bucky didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Some behavior that Tony was allowing in the village but wasn’t quite polite in city behavior, or-- well, he didn’t _know_ , did he? What he did know was that Tony was less outgoing by the time they returned to their inn; he tried to make conversation and be attentive, both to Bucky, and to Rhodey and the lady Rhodey brought over to meet them, Pepper Potts.

Maybe Rhodey didn’t approve of Tony spending so much time with someone who wasn’t human. In the way of men, thinking Tony was _better than_. That Bucky wasn’t worthy of Tony’s time or attention. 

Bucky was no stranger to the damage a lower-status friend could have. Wasn’t he constantly being pushed down because Steve was considered worthless? He had been strong enough to stand for both of them, but it had been a near thing. What if Tony’s worth, his status, was being lowered in human eyes, because of his friendship with the herd?

Bucky managed to feign some interest in a new treat this night; someone had brought out a wire basket and placed it in the fire until dried corn kernels exploded into white, fluffy delicacies, seasoned with salt and butter.

That was fine; they passed around the popped corn and licked butter from their fingers, and if Tony still seemed distracted, his eyes were on Bucky more often than not.

But he covered over whatever he was thinking of, asking questions of Rhodey’s lady friend, teasing Rhodey over what sounded to Bucky like coltish pranks and ridiculousness. And despite his words to Rhodey earlier, he didn’t let the teasing turn embarrassing -- at least, Bucky didn’t think so. Rhodey occasionally protested Tony’s tales, but laughing, never quite telling Tony to stop.

Rhodey’s lady friend was pretty and slender, with hair like straw at sunset. She seemed to regard Tony as a troublemaker of whom she’d been warned. Something like an overly tall brownie, to be placated with food and drink. 

Tony did seem happy with his friends, enjoying the food and the stories. Bucky wondered if this was where Tony belonged, if this herd was what he needed, and not a houseful of clumsy, oversized centaurs who were forever pestering him with questions and needed his guidance for everything.

_There’s no romance there._

Bucky took care not to sigh too noticeably, but he did empty his tankard several times and slip into a morose silence, staring at the scarred wooden table in front of him.

Tony noticed, because Tony noticed everything. He leaned in against Bucky’s side. “You okay? Food didn’t upset your stomachs, did it?”

Bucky turned to look and had to blink several times while the Tony-shaped blob came into focus. He’d been drunk before, of course. Practically every centaur alive had fallen into an ale bucket before until they couldn’t walk. It was nearly a rite of passage.

But it had been quite some time since Bucky had put himself into his cups. He tried to shift, to rest his near hind leg and almost toppled over, the offside front knee refusing to take on Bucky’s weight. Oh, that was unsteady there, Bucky thought, getting his hands down to brace himself against the table.

“Uh--” he said, stupidly. “Might have had one bucket too many.”

“Yeah, looks that way,” Tony said, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Let’s go pour you into bed before you get any further down that path. You’re way too big for me to carry you.”

He stood up, then leaned in to give his friend a quick huddle, and caught up Pepper’s hand to kiss it, all charm and grace, before reaching up to sling his arm across Bucky’s waist. “Come on, then.”

“One Buck- Bucky too many,” Bucky said, giggling. He knew that giggling was something he wasn’t supposed to do anymore; not since he came of age. But once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Bucky, you know. For bucking. It’s a very practical name.”

“Descriptive,” Tony said, humming. “Though I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you buck. Do centaurs buck?”

“If you have good balance, yes,” Bucky said. “Most centaur rear, if they wish to fight with hooves as well as bow or spears. Goblins find us very intimidating up on hind legs only. Very tall. Not smart, though. Leaves your underside exposed. Bucking-- lets you kick backward, and protects the belly.”

“Good to know.” Tony left Bucky leaning against the wall as he opened the door to their room, then came back to get him. He grinned at Bucky. “Do centaurs get hangovers?”

“Of course,” Bucky said, letting his legs go out from under him until he was as graceless as a deer on an icy pond. Lucky for him, the couch was right there and he flopped over it. “I should prob-- prob.. Have some water.”

“Yeah. You stay there, I’m going to go get us some water. Don’t go to sleep until I get back.” Tony ruffled Bucky’s hair gently and then was gone.

Bucky wasn't sure that he could sleep, but he made a face anyway. "Don' tell me what to do," he muttered. "Full grown stallion here."

Tony made some kind of noise that wasn’t quite a laugh, but wasn’t entirely _not_ a laugh, either, because apparently he hadn’t actually left the room yet. “Full grown stallion who’s going to regret it if he doesn’t wait to have some water before he goes to sleep.” Then he left, and Bucky heard the door’s latch click into place that time.

Tony wasn’t gone very long, or else he was gone for a while and Bucky dozed off in the middle somewhere, but the sound of the door opening again roused him. “Water,” Tony said, sitting on the side of Bucky’s cushion and nudging him with the mug. 

"Thank you," Bucky said and mostly managed to drink without sloshing all over himself. Sometimes he missed the herdlands and the river that he would just drink from and not worry about getting wet. "Your friend," Bucky said. And then stopped. He wasn't sure how to ask, or even if there was anything to ask. That he didn't like Bucky, or maybe didn't think Bucky and Tony should be friends. And what was… "He's… worried about you?"

“He always worries about me,” Tony said. “He’s like an older brother. Or like you and Steve.” Tony took the mostly-empty mug and set it to one side, then climbed into his bed, curling on his side to look at Bucky.

“Steve--” Bucky said, wondering. Wondering if Steve would disapprove. If Steve would think Bucky wasn’t worthy-- or that Tony wasn’t. “Steve thinks you are a very fine, clever sort of human. Even if you are short for a centaur.”

Tony chuckled a little. “I’m on the short side for a _human_ , never mind a centaur. I’ve made my peace with it. But I’m glad he approves. It would make our friendship very difficult if he didn’t like me at all.” 

“You are liked,” Bucky told him, earnestly. “And valued. And-- and adorable.” Bucky blinked a few times again. Tony was beautiful, in the candlelight, his eyes glowing and that little half-smile on his face. There were other things, other words that Bucky wanted to say, but he couldn’t figure them out.

“I... Thank you?” Tony was still smiling, but a thin line formed between his brows. “So are you.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “It is good. And you will still like me tomorrow when I am sick and have the headache.”

Tony laughed, and reached out to brush his fingers down Bucky’s cheek. “I can’t imagine ever not liking you,” he said, and there was something in his eyes as he said it that Bucky couldn’t quite identify, something that ached. And then it was gone and Tony was just grinning at him again, uncomplicated. “But I’d still prefer it if you could make it to the privy if you’re going to be sick.”

“I will remember,” Bucky said, and he let his eyes slip shut, feeling the truth of the world spinning under his body, the sky dancing over his head. Unseen, but still moving. Still there. Like the way he felt about Tony. Still there, always hidden. “Good night.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Do you know,” Bucky said, squinting up at the witch tower, part of the wizard’s college, “that I think the witches of the coven have cheated me? Years, I cantered to their home in the far mountains to gather herbs for Steve’s illnesses, and every time, I gave them pleasing stones from the river, as they asked for and nothing more. I thought I was making some great bargain, and in truth, I was, because what is the cost of the life of someone you love? It is worth _everything_ you can get your hands on. The life of someone you love, it’s worth everything. Anything. And still, I think they cheated me. I think they knew the value of these stones, in a man’s city, and they took it, knowing that I didn’t know.”

Tony had done business with the witches a few times, himself. “I think you’re right.” He followed Bucky’s gaze, up at the top of the tower. “We don’t have to sell them the dragon’s scale,” he said, because he could practically feel the reluctance oozing off Bucky. “We don’t have to sell it to anyone. You’re already wealthy; you don’t need more money. Not now. You can just save the scale until you find someone you like better to sell it to.”

“I think I won’t,” Bucky said, clenching his hand around the small pouch where he kept the scale and some of the smaller, less valuable stones. “I think-- I will call it even, that I did not know, and no one else could help my friend. My ignorance and desperation. But they did help him, and for that, I will be grateful. But perhaps, I will not be generous. Not… not right now.”

“You are more forgiving than I would be,” Tony said, because he wanted to go to the coven now and demand to know how they could take such advantage of a person so obviously kind and loving and generous. Which was an impulse that directly conflicted with his desire to not live out his remaining days as a newt, so he was doing his best to suppress it. “But it’s good to have a little something kept aside, for when you need it.” He patted Bucky’s side, aware of the ache it caused him and relishing it all the same.

“It shouldn’t take more than another day or so to finish my trading,” he added. “Did you get the things you needed for Steve’s ritual?”

“I have many things I need, and several things that I want, and a few things I didn’t even know existed,” Bucky said. “The dwarf clans had the papers that my sire put his finger to, and swore his word on, as well as a call-ring that had once been his. There is no anima there, not anymore, so I know now in fact what I have known only in my heart for many years. He did not survive the dragon. But he did sign for a-- percentage. And this, the dwarves have given me as his heir.”

“I’m sorry they didn’t have better news for you,” Tony said, though Bucky didn’t seem upset. “I’m a little surprised they didn’t come and find you and your mother themselves, when it was done.”

“They came,” Bucky said, turning away from the building. “Pierce would not let them speak to the herds. The longer I live, the more I find my life was built on lies. I am very glad of the day you were placed in my path.”

“So am I,” Tony said. “I could wish we had encountered one another earlier.” He walked with Bucky through the streets, considering. “I wonder... Surely not all herd leaders are like Pierce was. There must be some who manage their herds with wisdom and compassion.”

“It stands to reason,” Bucky said. “Not all humans are like the coven witches, all centaurs are not Pierce. Or Rumlow. I should very much like to kick him in the chin if I see him again, and be damned with politeness. It is well, Tony. My herd has a new, better home.”

“I’m glad. The village is, I think, the better for having your herd in it.” That was only the truth. Tony glanced up at his companion and lost his breath for a moment in Bucky’s sheer beauty. When he’d recovered his breath, he said, “Shall we head home in the morning, then?”

“Yes,” Bucky agreed. “The city is nice enough, but I think I will be happier if I don’t see it again for a few moons.”

“Yeah, I live in the village for a reason,” Tony agreed. “It’s nice to come back once or twice a year and visit with Rhodey. Do some shopping and trading that I just can’t do in the village. But the village... that’s home.” Even moreso, now that Bucky was part of it.

“Then we will go back to our home,” Bucky said.

There was not much left to do; finish getting the orders for those in the village who couldn’t afford to travel to the city, paying off their -- considerable -- tab at the Tree and Sheaf. Getting grain and feed and water for the few days back.

Another night of sleep, with much less heroic drinking, and they were back on the road.

Bucky’s hoofbeats seemed to get lighter with each mile they left the city behind.

“It’s easier to leave,” Tony admitted, once the last of the city’s towers was out of sight, “knowing that Rhodey has someone to take care of him.”

“Does he need a keeper? Someone to make sure he eats and nudge him away from his work?” Bucky gave Tony a sly look. “Perhaps _you_ need someone to take care of you, as well.”

Tony laughed. One of the nice things about being on the road was that, sitting up on the wagon seat, his head was closer to being level with Bucky’s. It made it easier to spot all those subtle little expressions. “Perhaps I do, at that.” 

Bucky was listing all the different skills a caretaker for Tony to possess, and Tony was laughingly protesting many of them, when Bucky suddenly came up short-- shying violently away from the side of the road and all but colliding with the wagon. 

In the same moment, Tony’s horse whinnied, rearing up in the harness and shaking his head frantically.

Tony hauled on the reins, trying to pull the animal’s head down. “What-- what is it?”

“Owlbear,” Bucky whispered, his breath barely behind the word at all. “ _Owlbear_ , Tony--” He groped in the back of the wagon for his bow.

“What? No, that’s not possible, we’re not even a whole day from the city--” The horse shook his head again, dancing fretfully, and Tony had to rein him in again. “Maybe it’s--”

“Owlbear,” Bucky said again, drawing his bow and putting an arrow to the string. “They stink, can you-- can you not _smell_ them?” He scanned the woods, not far and yet far enough, from the road. “We’re taught as colts to sniff their feathers, their fur, and know our enemy.”

A dark shadow shifted among the trees.

Whatever it was, the horse did _not_ like it. It was all Tony could do to keep the beast from bolting. “There was -- there was a burnt-out farmhouse that we saw, the morning before we arrived. It shouldn’t be more than another mile or so down the road. If we can get there, it will at least put something solid at our backs.”

“Yes,” Bucky said, tracking the shape. He took a few steps backward, not taking his eyes off the wood. “Move slow. They are not as smart as centaurs, or men, but they are smarter than bears. Or owls. Some even wear armor. If he sees us run-- well, you cannot run as fast as a bear.”

“Right.” Tony clucked the horse into motion again, though it hardly needed more than Tony loosening his grip on the reins. His arms bulged and ached with the effort of holding the beast to a walk.

Tension sang in the air like the faintest hum of a taut bowstring. There was an enormous oak by the road that Tony thought he remembered, and a bit farther down, a slender rowan. “Not far,” he said.

“Too far,” Bucky said, ominously. “We’re not going to make it. He’s not hunting us.”

Well, that was good, right? 

The horse shrieked, a terrible sound, rearing up in his traces, tearing at the reins and all but throwing Tony to the ground.

Two more shapes broke from the forest. In front of them,

“He’s _herding_ us,” Bucky said, his face set with grim determination. 

“Son of a--” Tony wound the reins around one wrist while groping under the wagon seat for his crossbow. His mind raced. Owlbears were faster than humans but not nearly as fast as horses. They were predation hunters. But if they put on a burst of speed, they might get far enough away to at least prepare for the attack. “We can run for it,” Tony opined. “Across the field.” Perpendicular to the path the owlbears were on. The wagon would go slower across the softer ground, but hopefully fast enough to stay ahead of the owlbears.

Bucky shook his head. “Cut the horse free,” he said, sounding pained. “It will run. They have no interest in the wagon, only in food. It is a hard loss, but--” He sidled up to the wagon, presenting a broad back. “Get on.”

“What--” No time to argue, Tony knew. He drew his knife and slashed through the traces. The horse screamed again and bolted. Tony snatched up his little quiver and scrambled onto Bucky’s back.

It was at once exactly like sitting a horse and exactly _nothing_ like it. The bony spine was pretty similar; Tony hadn’t ridden bareback since his youth.

If he had bruises on his ass when this was done, he’d be grateful to be alive to complain about them. He clamped his legs around the barrel of Bucky’s horse-body. No mane to hold on to, but Bucky’s human half was considerably taller than a horse’s neck. Tony wrapped his free arm around Bucky’s torso. “Go.”

Bucky took a few steps away from the wagon, snapped his arm back and released an arrow at the lumbering owlbear. It tinged off the beast’s helmet, the sound of metal on metal. “It’s wearing armor,” Bucky snapped. Two more arrows zinged through their air, striking the beast in shoulder and chest, which seemed only to piss it off.

The sound that came from the owlbear’s beak was a cross between a bear’s roar and a raptor’s scream, loud, terrifying, and utterly inhuman.

“We are leaving now,” Bucky said, sounding strangely calm. “Hold on.”

Riding a centaur was like trying to maintain his seat on a typhoon. Bucky did not gallop in neat, orderly lines, either. He raced, making wide circles to face the beast again and attempt to fill it with arrows. The other two-- Tony whipped his head around looking for them, but they were chasing his horse.

The owlbear stopped and rose up onto hind legs, a good eight feet tall, at least. One paw swept through the arrows that protruded, snapping many of them off.

Not all.

With terrifying brutality, the owlbear yanked one arrow out, the head and shaft dripping blood, and threw it back at Bucky.

Bucky shouted, scrambled forward a few paces, and his legs went out from under him. Tony rolled free and got to his feet. Bucky was grasping for the arrow; barely penetrating his hind quarter.

Tony groped for his quiver. The miniature crossbow didn’t have much range, but it packed a heavy punch, enough, probably, to get through the owlbear’s armor. He loaded it into the slot and took aim. “Be ready to run,” he said calmly, and squeezed the trigger.

The owlbear lunged for Tony, claws out. One eye went dark and bloody as the bolt pierced it.

“No, no, **Tony--** ”

There wasn’t any pain, not at first, just heat and wetness. Across the field, the horse was screaming as it had been caught--

“Tony, no, Tony, wait, wait--” 

A great weight was lifted off him, and then Bucky was there.

“Pretty good shot,” Tony said, and was startled that it came out a wet whisper, no breath behind it. He looked down at himself, yanked weakly at his coat, and it fell away to show his shirt already drenched in blood, and the stain was spreading.

“Tony, no, no, no,” Bucky sobbed. “No, no, you killed it, it’s dead, Tony-- don’t do this.”

“It’s okay, honey,” Tony rasped. “It’s going to be okay.” Oh, _there_ was the pain, a sensation like forge-heated iron pouring through his veins. He clenched his teeth down on it and dragged his shirt open -- easy enough to do, already shredded by the owlbear’s claws.

His chest was... What little he could see of it was a mess. Maybe, _maybe_ , if there were a healer already on hand, he could survive this. But there wasn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sight. “You,” he gritted. “You’ll be okay. You and the herd.”

“I won’t,” Bucky swore, and he was on the ground next to Tony, holding his hand very gently. “I will not be okay. No. Tony, no, _please_. Tell me what to do, how-- what can I do?” He patted frantically at his things, snapped a bead out of his hair. “Here, this-- this will help with pain. Can you take it, crush it in your hand. Let me help, just cup it. I’ve got you, Tony. Steve made this bead. It will help.” Bucky squeezed his hand shut and then there was powder against his skin--

It did help, actually, which shouldn’t have been a surprise but somehow was. Tony managed to draw a breath, shallow and weak. “No healing this,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

“There has to be something else,” Bucky said, and he was scrambling in his bags, dumping them out. “How can I have so much-- so many _things_? And nothing I can do for you? Tony, you can’t leave me.”

The centaur was weeping, his face full of anguish. There was blood on his chin and neck, probably from his own wound, or maybe it was Tony’s blood. 

“Don’t want to,” Tony said gently. “Don’t think I have much choice.” He tried to move his hand, to grope for Bucky’s, but his strength was flowing out of him like water. “Not long now. Let me see your eyes, let me see you--”

“You-- no, you _stupid human_ ,” Bucky said. “You don’t get to die like this-- the herd needs you. _I_ need you. I… I love you.”

Tony would have gasped if he’d been able to take that much of a breath. “ _Oh_. Oh, honey, I love you, too.” Warmth filled him as he said it, not the molten pain but something sweeter and calmer. He’d said what he had to say. It was time. And at least he got to take Bucky’s face with him into the darkness, and cradle close the knowledge of Bucky’s love.

* * *

There was nothing. Bucky had bags and bags full of _nothing_. It was all garbage. All the things that Tony had shown him, and he’d forgotten the most important lesson -- _carry only what you need_.

No centaur in the herd would have so much, and therefore, no centaur in the herd would lose _everything_.

“Tony, no, please,” Bucky said. He’d eased Tony’s pain, Tony wasn’t blind with anguish anymore, aware that his torso had been split clean open by an owlbear’s dying gash. He couldn’t feel his heartbeat faltering.

That was good. If it was all Bucky could do, at least Tony wasn’t _suffering_.

Not the way Bucky was suffering.

He kept looking back, to see Tony’s dark gaze on him, that half-smile lingering on his mouth. But at the same time, Bucky couldn’t help it, pawing through his things. Surely there must be something else he could do. Some--

A blue gemstone, a pretty rock-- they were worthless and they had always been worthless…

Bucky stopped, holding the stone in his hand. It wasn’t really a stone, the dwarves had told him. Dragon scale.

Dragons were immense, powerful creatures. 

Adventurers sought their lairs, not only to gain the vast riches that such creatures were said to accumulate, but because--

Dragon magic could heal.

Dragon’s blood, dragon’s scales were said to be ingredients in some of the most powerful healing magics. Well out of reach of what a herd could trade for, and so they’d never really paid attention to those myths.

But the witches had told him, once, when he asked about curing Steve, instead of just treating his symptoms. _It would take a dragon scale to cure that one._

“What-- what do I do with it?” Bucky had the scale. He had one.

Just one.

“Tony--” 

Had Tony died, while Bucky was trying to think clearly, had he left-- no, there, he was breathing, if slowly, shuddering with each breath.

“I don’t know what to do.” He looked at the terrible, gaping hole in Tony’s chest, and then down at the scale.

There was no possible way, Bucky thought, that he could make it worse by trying. “Here,” he said, putting the scale in Tony’s hand, pressing that hand to the wound. “Here, hold this.”

Tony’s hand didn’t really close around the scale, but his hand stayed where Bucky had pressed it, pressing the dragon’s scale into the wound. Tony’s eyes opened a little, a tiny bit, and fixed on Bucky’s face. His lips moved, no sound behind them, not even the whisper of a breath.

Bucky didn’t know what he was trying to say, couldn’t read the words in the shape of Tony’s lips.

Tony lifted his hand, only a few inches, but enough to see that the dragon scale was barely even visible, utterly coated in Tony’s blood, sinking in a river of it.

Tony’s lips moved again, and then his eyes closed. His hand fell limp.

Bucky didn’t know, hadn’t known, couldn’t know, that such anguish existed in the entire world. A thousand voices screamed out in pain and Bucky answered them with a single, choked sob. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bucky knew he should do something; he should-- he should make sure the owlbears were gone. They traveled in parliaments, but didn’t always care for a fallen nestmate. The other two would have eaten Tony’s horse, the poor dumb thing. But if they were still hungry, Bucky was right there.

He couldn’t let them have Tony’s body. Tony would need to be taken home, his body prepared to be received by the gods. Songs would be written to honor him, and then-- well, Bucky didn’t know. Centaurs burned their dead, but the humans might do something else. 

Which they could not do if Bucky lay there until the owlbears ate them both.

Bucky kept his eyes closed, trying to gather his strength, courage, and conviction. Twenty breaths, and then he would get up. He would get up, and he would find a blanket to wrap Tony’s body in.

Twenty breaths. That was all.

He got as far as twelve when Tony-- _screamed_. His whole body arched like it was trying to lift off the ground entirely, his head thrown back and he was still screaming, it went on and on and on until Bucky’s lungs ached in sympathy. And then it kept going even longer.

“Tony--” Bucky reached for him, then drew back, terrified. Horrified of what he’d done. Had he done _this_?

The awful scream finally stopped and Tony dropped to the ground again, flat and limp and lifeless... No. Not lifeless. He was panting shallowly, his hand twitching where it was pressed over his chest, covering the wound.

There was light seeping out of the spaces between his fingers, brilliant blue light like nothing Bucky had ever seen before.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky cried out, finally daring to take Tony’s hand again. “I’m sorry-- Tony-- Tony, can you hear me?”

Under Tony’s hand, the dragon’s scale was visible once more, the source of that blue glow. It seemed to be absorbing Tony’s blood, soaking it up like moss. When Bucky looked away for a moment, to scan for the owlbears, he looked back to find it even brighter than before.

For long, agonizing moments, Tony didn’t respond, just laid there, panting and twitching and occasionally letting out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

And then Tony’s eyes were open, staring at him, wide and shocked. “Bucky?” It was a hoarse whisper, ragged from the screaming, and the most beautiful thing Bucky had ever heard.

“I’m here,” Bucky said, looking down at eyes he never thought he’d see again. “Are you--” he didn’t even know how to ask what he wanted to ask. “Did you die?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said. He reached up with his other hand, touched the dragon scale lightly, felt around the edges of the wound, and winced. “Still hurts. But it’s... It’s getting better. What did you do?”

“The witches said-- I asked them, once, if there was a way to cure Steve,” Bucky admitted. “Only a dragon scale has that much magic, they said. I-- I gave it to you.”

“The. The whole thing?” Tony struggled to lift his head, to look at it. “It’s glowing.”

“ _You were dying,_ ” Bucky said, like that was some sort of explanation. “Do you think I should have taken time to consult a healer?” He wasn’t sure why he was so angry, suddenly. Or so defensive. Had he done something wrong? Unforgivable? “Look, you’re _healing_. You’re going to be okay.”

Hopefully. 

“Yeah,” Tony said. He touched the edge of the wound again, but it was already smaller, the blood almost gone, its edges closing into an angry, red scar. “I was dead,” he repeated. “Or. Dying, anyway. I--” His eyes flicked up to Bucky’s again. “You saved me.”

“It was-- it was the only thing I had,” Bucky said. “Can you sit? I can carry you, but-- I don’t know. One owlbear is dead, the other two-- they ate your horse, I’m sorry.”

“Poor thing,” Tony said. He groped for Bucky’s arm, used it to pull himself upright. He winced again, but didn’t fall back down. “Still. Better him than us. What about the wagon?”

“The wagon is well,” Bucky said. “Here, let me--” 

Lifting Tony and getting up on his hooves was not the hardest thing Bucky had ever done, but it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t graceful. But he was lifting Tony-- and Tony was helping, holding on, breathing. It was better, so much better, than Bucky had thought, only moments ago. That he would be carrying Tony’s limp, motionless body--

Tony’s fingers touched his cheek. “You’re crying.”

“I was composing your funeral ballad in my head and you’re criticizing?” Bucky’s voice went up, almost out of control, and his hands tightened around Tony’s waist, squeezing him close, closer. And even through the middle of combined relief and hysteria, he was wondering how much Tony remembered. Had Tony said, _I love you_? Had he really? Or had he just been trying to ease Bucky’s grief? “You _died!_ Am I supposed to be dry-faced?”

“I wasn’t criticizing!” Tony protested. He curled closer, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “Anyway, I got better. _Thank you_ seems really inadequate, but: thank you.”

Bucky snorted. He didn’t want Tony’s gratitude. Or, he did, but only because Tony was alive to give it. “I think we should go, before the owlbears regroup. You rest, here. And don’t-- don’t laugh.”

Bucky examined the leather that the dumb horse had used to pull the cart. He had no doubt that Rumlow, or Pierce, would have ugly words, if they ever saw that he’d carried a human on his back like a common mule, much less _drew a cart_. But what choice did they have? He used the cut reins, knotted around his middle, and _pulled_.

“This may be the most _humiliating_ thing I have ever done,” Bucky muttered, but the cart rolled forward. It wasn’t even that difficult, really. 

“Sorry,” Tony said, and he sounded actually contrite. “We could walk, if you’d rather. Find the next farmstead and buy a horse or a donkey and come back for the cart?”

“Everything,” Bucky said. “Honor, dignity, coin, wealth, _everything_. It’s worth it. You’re _alive_. If you want, I will immediately train to learn how to fly.”

“I don’t want you to learn to fly,” Tony said, and he sounded almost amused. “Have you _seen_ the wingspan on a pegasus? You’d never be able to fit in your house again.” Definitely amused, there. “All I want is to be with you.”

“Well, you get what you want, then,” Bucky said, getting the cart back on the road. It rolled even easier that way. “You’ll not be rid of me so easily. And we will stop for the night where there are buildings. Send someone back to fetch the owlbear. What a trophy that will make, will it not? We will be famed, killing an owlbear is no easy task, and we will never, ever speak of me _hauling a cart_ again.”

“It’s not like you’re in the traces,” Tony said. “You’ve hauled kills in from the woods, carried sheaves of wheat. This isn’t so different. You’re just strong enough that you can move a _really big_ wheelbarrow. And _someone_ is going to ask how we got the cart back. Are you going to tell them that _I_ pulled it?”

“I am going to develop convenient deafness,” Bucky said. “The herd will be too polite to ask, and--” Well, did he really care what other people thought? They’d already watched the herd drag a badly cobbled cart into the village, and Steve had to stand on the wretched thing. This was no different. Not really. Needs must, he supposed.

And he glanced back at Tony. “Ma always said, if I couldn’t carry it on my back, I didn’t need it. With wheels, I can, apparently, carry rather a lot on my back. And at least one thing I see-- precious to me beyond words.”

Tony made a soft sound. “Bucky. Stop a minute, come here, I need--”

Bucky let the cart roll to a stop, turning as soon as he was in no danger of being run over by it. “Are you hurt--” He knocked his fetlock against one of the poles, practically tripping over it in his haste.

“I’m fine,” Tony said, reaching out to catch Bucky’s hand. “I’m fine, I’m not hurt, I just...” He looked much stronger, color high in his cheeks and his eyes bright and sharp. He pulled Bucky closer, brushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “I just need.” Sitting on the wagon, he was nearly the same height as Bucky. All he had to do was lean over to press his lips lightly against Bucky’s.

Sweet, so sweet, the feel of Tony’s mouth on his. A kiss, delicious and light and precious and everything he couldn’t have, and wanted anyway. And it was bitter, because he was going to take it anyway, knowing they could never have anything more than this. How would-- he couldn’t have Tony as his mate, not in any way that mattered.

Except that he loved Tony.

So he took what he was offered, and gave back everything that he could.

“You’re--” Bucky didn’t know what to say, tasting Tony’s mouth lingering on his own lip. “This--” He wanted to protest, to explain, to-- to deny. Except it was _Tony_ , and he was never going to deny it again. “I love you.”

Tony smiled, his nose wrinkling adorably. “I’m glad to know you meant it, or that would’ve been excessively awkward. I love you too, you know.”

“We’ll-- we’ll figure something out,” Bucky said, wary of making promises he couldn’t keep, but-- what had even been his life these last few months except promises he hadn’t known he could keep. Maybe they could make it work. A little.

Enough.

Together.

“If all we can have is this, I’ll be happy,” Tony promised.

“This is good,” Bucky said, nuzzling in for another kiss. “I wouldn’t object to a -- little bit more. But I’m greedy. Listen to me, an hour ago you were dead, and now I’m complaining again.” He ruffled Tony’s hair. “Get some rest. You had a busy day.”

Tony pulled him in for another kiss, sweet and gentle, and then let go reluctantly. “I won’t lie, I’m pretty beat. Let’s stop at the first place that can put us up. I feel like I could sleep for days.” He looked down at his chest. “I should probably find a shirt before we encounter anyone else. The glow isn’t going away. That’s... going to stick out.”

“I-- we might want to see a witch about that, sometime very soon. I don’t know what the dragon’s scale will do to you,” Bucky said. At least they had this. They had this right now, and Bucky was going to make the most of it. “Here, let me get your bag-- the old shirt is ruined anyway.”

“Thanks.” Tony took the bag when Bucky lifted it out of the wagon and started to rummage in it. “A witch wouldn’t be the worst idea,” he admitted. “We can stop at the coven and they can give us some free advice in exchange for all the times they cheated you.”

Bucky nodded. The coven might have cheated him-- but if they hadn’t… would he have still kept the dragon scale? He wouldn’t have Tony at all, if they hadn’t.

All the right endings in the world don’t make up for a wrong. 

He would decide on the morality of the whole thing later. Over ale and with a good fire. Somewhere _safe_.

“We are going now,” Bucky said. “No more delays.” He shook a mock-stern finger at Tony and tried not to laugh at the contrite face Tony made.

“Yes, oh mighty herd stallion,” Tony teased, tugging a fresh shirt over his head, but the way he slumped on the seat told Bucky how much he needed to rest, and soon. There were limits to the miracle of the dragon’s scale.

Bucky lifted the cart’s rails. Time to make dust, he thought, gritting his teeth and getting the cart moving again. It wasn’t hard. 

And there was a good sized farm not but a few leagues down the road. They would be safe there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We want you to know that we were _sorely tempted_ to break on the cliffhanger, but managed to make ourselves be nicer than that. :D


	8. Chapter 8

There were many reasons, once they’d gotten a new horse, and made repairs, and rigged a sledge to carry the owlbear’s corpse back to the village, _not_ to go to the witches’ coven. Tony woke up each day feeling stronger than he had before.

For someone who’d nearly died, all but been before the Great Hall and judgement of the Gods, Tony wasn’t sure he’d ever felt better. There were some lingering aches, the first few days. Unexpected dizzy spells. 

But by the time they were home again, all those had passed.

He was fine.

Bucky didn’t mention it again, but sometimes Tony would catch him looking-- not at Tony, not with the eyes of new love, but at Tony’s chest, and some great worry would crease his forehead.

Until he saw Tony looking back, and then he would smile and change the subject.

There were a lot of reasons not to go seek the wisdom of witches.

They’d cheated Bucky, dozens of times over the years. Who knew what else they had done?

Really. Everything was fine.

Tony kept his shirt laced when he was at the forge or out and about -- there was no hiding from the village that they’d tangled with the owlbears or that he’d been wounded, but the glow of the dragon’s scale in his chest was strange, and Tony didn’t want anyone staring at it.

He’d always had a gift for steelwork, but it seemed now he could feel every subtle shift of the forge’s temperatures, could wield the hammer for hours without tiring, could almost see the shapes of the metal before he’d even set the rods to heat. He had so many ideas and visions to capture, not nearly enough time to go out and try to convince the witches to speak in anything but riddles.

Besides, the autumn rains were upon them by the time Tony had fully recovered his strength, and who wanted to go traveling over the moors when they were even swampier than usual? Maybe in the spring, they’d make some time for the trip. It was fine.

“Tony--” the red-haired centaur mare said, trotting up to the forge. “I hate to bother you, you seem very busy.” She was the only one of the centaurs who habitually wore clothing, although Bucky had said it was more because the village ladies didn’t appreciate her trotting around undressed -- or maybe the village men appreciated it too much -- and today was wearing the vest Bucky had commissioned for her. Made from owlbear pelt, and tanned by the satyr, it was almost brilliantly iridescent, a hint of the tawny feathers around the edging, it looked lovely against her skin.

“Nat!” Tony said cheerfully, waving her in. “My favorite lady centaur; what can I do for you?”

“Steve has rolled the stones,” she said. “Tonight, the spirits are with us, the ceremony can take place. To make you one with our herd and our hearts.”

That was good news; the tiny centaur crafter had been busy with the supplies Tony and Bucky had brought back from the city, but the portents had not been favorable. Tony wasn’t sure what that meant; none of the centaurs seemed particularly bothered by it. It was not, then, _bad luck_ that the ceremony kept being pushed off _,_ but it might have been, if they held the ceremony without the gods’ approval.

“Oh, great!” he said. It was good to know, so he wouldn’t work too late, but he spent near every evening with the centaurs anyway. “Is there something you need me to do before then?”

“The gods have some humor,” she said, making a sign over her heart. 

“As ever,” Tony agreed, because when had the gods ever _not_ delighted in making things difficult for mortals?

“The door,” Natasha said, “to the room where we have kept our supplies, the amulets and the sacred herbs. It’s stuck. Even Sam and Bucky together cannot get it open.”

That... wasn’t terribly surprising, to be honest. The centaur’s house was new, and had been built in a certain amount of haste. And it had rained for most of the last ten days. The wood had probably swollen with the damp and wedged itself into place. It wasn’t a wholly impossible situation; Tony could climb into the room through the window -- a trick none of the centaurs could manage, obviously -- and remove the door’s hinges. If it didn’t want to open into the room, pushing it back out, once it was hinge-less, should be do-able. And then Tony could plane down the edges of the door so it fit better.

He gathered his tools -- hammer and awl, plane, a truesquare -- and followed Nat back to the herdhouse.

“I sent Bucky and Sam out to fetch fresh fruit and more bread for the feast tonight,” Nat confided. “They were feeling some challenges to their stallionhood.”

Tony laughed. Nat had the most fantastic dry wit. “Well, that should keep them feeling like useful providers, then,” he agreed. He eyed the exterior of the house. “That room?” He pointed at the window. “Okay, I’m going through the window. You wait out in the hall.”

“You humans are so clever with your legs and little bottoms,” Nat commented. “I don’t think even Steve would fit into the window.”

“We all have our strengths,” Tony allowed. The shutters, at least, were still in working order, not being particularly tight-fitted. Unlatching them from the outside took a bit of fiddling, but Tony had _built_ this house; he knew where every hook and latch was located.

He tumbled through the window with no problem, and immediately sneezed; the storeroom was packed with dried herbs that, individually, smelled quite pleasant, but all piled together like this, were nothing more than olfactory cacophony. He waited for his sinuses to clear, then went to work on the hinge pins.

He set them aside, and then considered the door. Yes, he could see where it had swollen against the frame -- in several places, in fact. He got out a piece of charcoal and marked the edges so he’d know where to plane the wood, later, and then called through the door. “You in place? I’m going to push the door back out toward you.”

“I am here,” Nat said. “I should catch it, yes? Or pull?”

“It should fall right out,” Tony said. “If it’s particularly stuck, you may need to pull some.” He put his hands on the door and shoved.

The door... did not move.

“The Gods,” Nat said, yanking on the handle from the other side, “want us to prove that we truly wish this.”

“Apparently,” Tony agreed. He re-eyed the warped areas, recalculated the position of his hands. “On three. One, two, _three!_ ”

The door did not move.

They tried again. And again. Nat went and got Steve to help her pull. That... resulted in the door handle popping off.

Tony got a crowbar. That resulted in some unsightly dents in the door and its frame, but no actual movement of the door.

“Just... _open_ , damn you!” he snarled at the door, waving at it impatiently.

A sizzle of heat shot down Tony’s arm and the door all but _exploded_ open, leaving the faint scent of ozone in the air.

“What, by all the gods, just happened?”

“Yes, exactly,” Nat said, her eyes wide. There was a pile of splinters in the hall, a few largish chunks of wood, but most of the door had been destroyed. The pieces that remained were smoking gently.

Steve was leaning against the wall, wheezing, his tiny chest heaving. “Nat--”

“Yes, of course,” Nat said, moving through the house quickly to Steve’s room, where his herbal treatments were stored.

“You--” Steve said. “You did _something--_ ” He pointed at Tony, not quite accusingly. “There was blue light--”

Tony put his hand over the dragon scale. “I didn’t mean to,” he protested. “I just...” He looked at the smoking ruins of the door, apparent victim of his frustration.

Maybe they needed to go and see the witches sooner rather than later, after all.

Steve didn’t speak again until he was halfway through smoking a pipe full of herbs that eased his strained breathing. Just being near him while he was smoking was enough to make Tony sleepy, honestly.

“The gods,” he said, pointing his pipe stem at the remains of the door, “wanted this to happen. Or the door would not have been stuck for no reason, exactly at this time. We are bringing a miracle into the herd. But-- we should all know what, exactly, it is all about.”

“I would tell you if I knew,” Tony said, staring at his hands. “I just.” He waved a hand toward the ex-door. “Just wanted it to open.”

“You don’t say,” Nat said. She picked up a piece. “I am glad you did not decide you wanted one of us to _go away_. These are very small pieces.”

Tony was equally glad of that. “I... am going to have to figure this out,” he said, tapping on the dragon scale. “This isn’t just affecting me, now.”

The front door opened cautiously. “Why is the home smoking?” Bucky wondered.

“I, uh, fixed the stuck door?” Tony smiled hopefully.

“In truth,” Nat said, holding up the splinter. “The door is no longer stuck. It is also no longer a door, precisely.”

“You shoulda seen it, Buck,” Steve said, with some enthusiasm. “Your human here was glowing all over with lightning. It’d be scary, if it wasn’t _Tony_.”

“Tony?”

Tony grimaced a little. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I didn’t do it on _purpose_. But we may, uh, need to go see the coven a little sooner than we’d planned.”

“First thing tomorrow,” Bucky agreed. “The ceremony is tonight. We have brought food to our feast.”

“A feast sounds good,” Tony said. Ritual, and then feast, and then he’d go back to the forge and see if he could reproduce this effect on his own. Far away from his friends and any innocent doors. 

The herd ceremony was both elaborate and simple. Tony was told to bring a taper or candle, coal or twig, from his home fire, and to bring it to the centaurs’ home. “Because you will join your fire with ours.”

That was a nice symbol, there. Tony lit his taper from the forge, the smithy being more Tony’s home than the house he slept in. And having more to offer the herd. Either way, the gods saw fit to refrain from blowing it out as he carried it back to the centaurs’ home, and it readily caught on the kindling laid in the centaurs’ hearth.

Food was cooked over that fire which would be their first meal together.

Steve presided over the actual ceremony, his ribs and arms and flanks covered with chalk designs that meant something, were sacred, to the centaurs. Tony didn’t ask, and Bucky didn’t bother to explain. Tony wasn’t even sure if he knew. Sometimes praying to gods meant taking on quite a lot of faith that a thing meant anything at all.

“Who entrusts this soul to the herd?” Steve asked.

“I do.” Bucky reached out his hand. “My honor, to his honor. My word on his word. I am entrusted with the care for this foundling, to bring him to hearth and herd.”

“Do you accept Bucky’s trust?”

They hadn’t coached him on what to say. No magic words, then, he assumed -- just simple acceptance. “Gratefully,” Tony answered, reaching out to take Bucky’s hand, feeling the warmth of comfort and joy flowing through him.

“Then, to please the gods, and to grow the herd, we accept this foundling into our care,” Steve said. He took out a small bowl, added the herbs, poured water into it. “Come forward, and receive your name.”

Bucky tugged lightly on Tony’s shirt. “Take this off. The herd mark will stain until it dries, and then it will wear off in about a moon.”

Tony stripped off his shirt -- it felt a little odd to be without it, after weeks of keeping the dragon’s scale covered, but he didn’t expect to keep it secret from the herd -- and dropped it on the floor by his feet.

With a skilled hand, Steve drew-- a circle with a triangle inside it, placing it right in the center of his chest, just over the dragon’s scale, which glowed to fill the triangle as if it had been planned that way. “This is Tony.”

“Tony,” the rest of the herd said in unison.

“One of us.”

“Always.”

“Always,” Tony repeated softly, somewhat in awe.

Each of the herd took a moment to stand in front of Steve and have their names written on their chest, Bucky’s plain star, Nat had an hourglass shape inside a circle, Steve’s name was also a star, but this one inside a circle. Sam’s was more elaborate, a series of shapes pointing like an arrow, somewhat reminiscent of a bird’s tail.

“I am Steve.”

“Steve.”

“One of us.”

“Always.”

The ritual went all the way around, declaring themselves to the gods. 

And then it was time for dinner.

* * *

Bucky didn’t quite sneer at the new horse, or the fancy saddle that Tony put over the dumb creature’s back. He was capable of carrying Tony, and he knew well enough that Tony was capable of riding a centaur.

But it still didn’t seem the sort of thing they should just-- do. Without a good reason.

Which meant Bucky was just going to have to get used to a new horse, since it seemed unfair to make Tony run the whole way just to protect Bucky’s dignity.

Steve had given him nearly a handful of beads to guard against owlbears, although Bucky didn’t think they’d be unlucky enough to run into them again, it never hurt to remind luck where she should be looking.

Tony patted the horse’s flank and swung up into the saddle, then looked over at Bucky with an amused twist to his mouth. “I see you disparaging my horse,” he teased.

“It can’t help what it was born to,” Bucky said. That said, Tony on horseback was a Tony that Bucky could almost pretend was a centaur. They were about level, and could keep pace, chatting and exchanging glances. If it wasn’t for the noise of leather and metal buckles, and the occasional sigh from the horse himself…

Well, Tony would have made a glorious centaur, Bucky decided.

“Another trip, so soon after the first,” Tony commented as they left the village and its surrounding farms behind. “They will begin to think we’re wanderers and not proper townsfolk, after all.”

“Wouldn’t be so bad, I suppose,” Bucky said. “Pick a direction, and see what’s beyond that mountain, or around that forest. Cervitaurs are more likely to be migratory, but it’s not completely beyond our nature.”

“Well, perhaps one day,” Tony said thoughtfully, his eyes on the horizon. “After I’ve found an apprentice and trained them up a bit. Wouldn’t do to leave the village without a smith for too long.”

“Nice thing about this trip,” Bucky said, after they got past most of the farms, “is there’s no reason why that heap of bones of yours can’t stretch her legs a little. Eat up some miles, we can be almost there by midday tomorrow.”

Tony shot him a smirk. “Are you suggesting that we _race?_ ”

“I could give you a head start,” Bucky offered.

“Oh, you are going to regret that,” Tony said. He kicked the horse into a canter, and then laid low against her neck as she stretched into a gallop.

Bucky, good as his word, counted to ten before moving out of the trot and stretching himself to run. It was glorious, the wind in his hair, the feel of steady ground under his hooves. He whooped out a war cry, slowly closing the distance between himself and Tony’s mount.

Tony glanced back over his shoulder and laughed, the sound drifting back to Bucky on the wind, and urged his horse into more of an effort. Not that there was any hope of a dumb horse outrunning a centaur, but the chase was perfect, the clear, crisp sky and the the thunder of hoofbeats, and Tony, his Tony, just ahead of him, carefree and laughing.

Once they’d worked themselves into a good sweat, Bucky declared himself the winner, circled wide, and came back to cool down by walking, side by side. “She gives a good run,” Bucky said, not quite grudgingly.

Tony hummed, patting the mare’s neck. “She does. It’s nice. Not that you couldn’t overtake her in a dozen steps if you’d actually had need. If I were really wealthy, I’d invest in a racer, just to keep your hooves light.”

“I am really wealthy,” Bucky said, thoughtfully. “But I think it would be very strange to buy a horse, and people would wonder what I wanted it for.”

“Yes, that might be a bit odd,” Tony admitted. “Though you could tell them that you need a dumb beast to pull loads for you.”

“Perhaps,” Bucky said. A good horse -- and Bucky had been in the village long enough to determine that there was some difference among the riding horses and the plowing horses -- was supposed to be a good use of coin. Maybe he would buy one for Tony-- as a mating gift, perhaps. Not that he and Tony could be mated in any traditional sense of the word, not really. But they could be close partners, and--

Bucky shook his head like shaking off a fly that wouldn’t stop landing on him. It was a useless, pointless dream. He loved Tony, he believed that Tony loved him. That was going to have to be enough.

“Have you ever visited the coven before?”

“Not in recent years,” Tony said. “My mother took me a couple of times, when I was a boy, after we first came here, but I don't really remember it.”

“There are two towers, and the courtyard between,” Bucky said. “The witches and enchanters live in one, the sorcerers and warlocks in the other. You can tell the difference by the marks they wear on the collars of their robes. They get offended if you call them by the wrong title. Enchanters and enchantresses are _your excellency_. But we will consult witches, who are called by their titles, or _sister_ or _brother_. I have most often dealings with the Scarlet Witch, or Sister Wanda, sometimes as she is called. You cannot miss her, she has the nicest cloak, aside from the Sorcerer Supreme, who calls himself _Doctor_.”

The first time Bucky had gone to them, terrified that he would come home, Steve would be dead and it would all be for nothing, he’d accidentally stepped on an enchanter’s foot -- tiny little thing that it was -- and promptly had all his hair turned blue. Which lasted for almost a month. And he’d been _cold_ the entire time.

“Sister and brother, excellency, doctor,” Tony repeated. “What do the warlocks call themselves?”

“ _Eminence_ ,” Bucky said with a shudder. “I don’t think we want to talk to them, though. They converse with demons.”

“That does sound unpleasant,” Tony agreed. He tapped at his chest, just over the dragon scale, which had become a habit for him. “Do you think they will be able to help?”

“They know many things,” Bucky said. “I do not think it will hurt to seek their advice, and to learn what they know. I do not know, however, what this will cost us. But I think it valuable, nonetheless. At least we will _know_.”

“Yes. I want to be sure I won’t hurt you or anyone else by accident.” Tony looked down at his hands again. “I want to know how much it’s going to... to change me.”

“You don’t seem any different,” Bucky said, “well, maybe a little. Your smell changed, although I think it was more that you died than anything--” He hitched in a breath, looking at Tony. Even seeing him there, alive and inquisitive as always, didn’t quite ease the pain of that almost-bereavement.

Tony reached out to take Bucky’s hand. “I’m here,” he said softly. “I won’t leave you again.”

“No, you won’t,” Bucky said, and if it sounded more like a threat than a promise, well, that was between Tony and him.


	9. Chapter 9

The two towers were carved into the side of great ash trees that stretched toward the sky. Tony had seen really tall trees before, but these two took it to extremes. The towers were some sort of blending of magic and engineering that made Tony both really curious and somewhat hoping that he wouldn’t have to trust that particular architect.

Tony shielded his eyes from the sun as he gazed up toward the tops of the towers. “Which one do we want?” He paused, then turned to look at Bucky. “Can you actually fit inside? Or do they come out to talk to you?”

“I was offered the _ability_ to fit inside,” Bucky said, tentatively. “I’m-- not sure whether they meant to make me smaller, or the hallways bigger. Or change me entirely. I declined.” He jerked his chin toward the immense shade. “This way.”

There were a few small buildings, that looked much more like the sort of thing Tony was used to, slated roofs that were glowing with sigils aside.

“That’s something of a relief,” Tony admitted. He wasn’t afraid of heights, but those towers looked... unsteady. He followed Bucky into the little cluster of buildings. “I wonder how long it will take,” he mused. “Is there an inn, or will we be camping, do you know?”

“They have some lee-side shelters,” Bucky said, “which I always used before. Houses, you know, being a relatively new method to shelter centaurs. There is an inn, we could inquire there, I just never have.”

Bucky pointed around the small marketplace. The majority of the covens living in the towers, and many of the magic users from around the nation clustered in small areas for mutual protection and resource sharing.

There was a lot of casual magic going on; Tony had only known a few spellcasters in his life, and they seldom displayed their abilities so openly. In some backward villages and countries, witch burning was still a common pastime. One woman was walking around with a cluster of brightly colored birds flying around her head, and as they got closer, Tony realized they were all talking to her.

He couldn’t help but stare at the people. He was familiar enough with magic, but he’d never seen it used so freely. So effortlessly. “Yeah, maybe we should’ve come sooner,” he admitted, watching a trio of younger casters playing some sort of game with a ball that floated in the air without ever touching down.

Bucky laughed. “Don’t stare, you’ll just encourage them,” he said. “Colts are like colts everywhere, eager to impress.”

The ball promptly burst into purple flames.

“Like that.”

Tony laughed and applauded for them. “I don’t see any harm in encouraging that,” he said. “It looked fun.”

“Ah, Bucky of Herd Pierce, back again?” The hedge witch at one of the stalls was already thumbing through a huge book made of thin-pressed birch leaves and bound with what appeared to be wyvern hide.

“Herd Stallion Bucky,” Bucky corrected, puffing out his chest and standing up straighter. “Matters have changed in the last six moons or so. Would Sister Wanda be available to speak with me, and my herdmate here, Tony Stark?”

The hedge witch’s eyebrows seemed to vanish into her tattered hat, which, in turn, grew its own set of eyebrows to raise one. “Tony Stark of Herd Bucky?” Like she hadn’t heard that correctly.

“Yes,” Tony agreed politely. “If she does not have time for us, perhaps you will advise us who else we could speak with, or tell us when she will be available.”

The hedge witch tipped her head up, and the hat looked down at her. “Could you see if the Sister has time for these fine herdsfolk today?”

“It is so stimulating, being your hat,” the hat complained. “Go here, ask that, fly around--”

“Go, you wretched thing.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” 

The hat promptly launched itself off her head, flapping for all it was worth toward one of the towers.

Tony watched it go, bemused. “It would probably fly easier if it had a wider brim,” he suggested.

“If Jefferson ever comes home from his adventure,” she said, “I shall take it up with him. Assuming he’s sane enough to listen.”

Tony wondered who Jefferson was, and what he had to do with hats, but that probably wasn’t any of his business, and his mother had cautioned him against meddling in the affairs of witches.

After some time, the hat came soaring out of the tower window again, followed by a woman wearing a red coat. Reddish energy emerged from her fingertips and she lowered herself to the ground gently.

“If you don’t mind,” the hat said, flopping onto the hedge witch’s head, “I’m just going to lie down here for a minute.”

“I am Wanda,” the woman said. “The Scarlet Witch. Walk with me, and tell me what you need. A human, made herdfolk; that’s a thing we haven’t seen in a long time. I should consult the prophets and make sure that it is not an omen. Or if it is an omen, what exactly, it portends.”

“Well, you’ll probably want the whole of it,” Tony said, following her as she strolled toward the outskirts of the little market. “I’m not entirely sure I’m altogether human anymore.”

She glanced at him, eyebrows raised, and so he launched into the whole story -- how Bucky had come to the village and Tony had invited them to stay. The herd moving in. The trip to the city. He glossed over the dwarves’ appraisal of Bucky’s gems -- he was going to let Bucky handle that, unless asked for help -- but covering the identification of the dragon’s scale. And then the owlbear attack. Which he likewise kept brief, mostly to save Bucky the pain of the memory as much as he could. And the recent appearance of unlikely abilities.

“I don’t know what it’s doing to me,” Tony finished. “Or how to control it.”

“Definitely need to check with the prophets,” Wanda said. “Too many strange and wonderful things that happen at once, someone wants to make sure we’re paying attention. This is more than a simple herbal treatment, summoned and prepared. I must examine you, preferably in my study, where I have access to my materials and books. Do you consent to this? Do you trust me?”

“No,” Bucky said. “I don’t trust you. How can I trust you? I have had the rocks appraised--”

“Ah,” Wanda said. “There is a simple, if unpleasant, truth there. Magic, like my magic, is often sympathetic. A like thing becomes more like. Your friend, his chest hurts, and you need medicine for him. It is valuable to you. If you knew the relative value of your gems, then… our magic would have demanded a different price. It is complicated. All prices that are given from the witches to their patrons-- are wildly variable. For a pair of copper coins, I would cure a child of what ailed them. If it was all the mother had.”

It sounded like a load of dung to Tony, but what choice did they have? “And what will you charge for this examination and your knowledge?” he wondered.

“Knowledge is free, for all who seek it,” Wanda said. “Our libraries are open to any who wish to read and study, so long as the books are not removed from the towers. At last count, the library contained almost seven hundred thousand volumes, in more than two hundred languages.”

In other words, _good luck with your search, mortal._

“As for my own fee,” Wanda said, spreading her hands. “It depends what I find.” Her eyes glowed softly red. “It will not be more than you can afford.”

Tony wasn’t so sure of that. He looked at Bucky and nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Bucky gave a shrug. “The magic, at least, always worked for Steve,” he said. “He would have died without it. And they have always been kind, with good, workable advice.”

“The gems were a thing of little consequence to you, then,” Wanda said. “A few hours, sorting rocks on the bank of the river. A little uncomfortable, maybe. But nothing that was a strain, only some work, collecting them. The price now would be quite different. A few stacks of your cantripped arrows, or a handful of warming beads. A few hours work on your part for a few hours work on ours. Now then. Take my hand and I will move us inside. Be warned, close your eyes. The portals are not comfortable, the first few times we are exposed to them.”

Tony took her hand, and then reached with his other for Bucky. “We will remain together,” he told her. He held tightly to Bucky’s hand, and closed his eyes.

“Yes, of course,” Wanda said. “I would not presume to act without the authority of your herd stallion.”

The portal squeezed Tony like an enormous hug from someone he didn’t particularly like. Being enfolded into the dubious embrace of his father’s business partner, for example. It smelled a little like Obie, too. Smoke and whiskey and expensive cologne.

“We are here, now,” Wanda said, shaking her hand until Tony released her fingers. 

“Haybales,” Bucky exclaimed. “That was-- very uncomfortable. Like trying to canter through a burning wood.”

Wanda’s study was a large round room, most of the wall hangings and furniture were very heavy on the red theme. There were shelves of books, a few fat, comfortable-looking chairs, a table with an elaborate distilling set on it, dripping mossy green liquid into a vial. Even the ceiling was rounded, and unless it was at the very top of the tower, had a ceiling that looked like a window open to the sky, but probably wasn’t.

Tony looked around curiously, and Wanda waited patiently for him to take it all in. “Very nice,” he said at last. The sky-ceiling was particularly nice. He wondered how difficult the magic was for that. “What do you want me to do now?”

Wanda took a strange, magical device and opened it, showing off a series of lenses, peering at him through each one, which in turn lit crystals on the front of the device. “Hmmm. Can you replicate the explosive ability?”

“I can try.” He’d tried it a little, back in the forge, with only sporadic success. “What do you want me to try to explode?” He looked around the room again, but didn’t see an obvious target.

“Here, stand--” she nudged him into the center of a circle. “If you would please back up, Master Bucky, outside of the circle. Carefully-- your tail end really is quite impressive. There. You stand here, we’ll stand outside. Power does not transfer across the border, so. Aim at me, if you wish.”

Tony most certainly did _not_ wish. What if whatever sort of power this was turned out to be immune to the barrier? He looked around and chose one of the overstuffed chairs, to one side of Wanda, so she’d still be able to look at him, but not be in the direct path.

He focused his mind on it, trying to remember what he’d done, how he’d felt when he’d exploded the door. Frustrated and tired and somewhat heated, a sensation like pressure in his temples -- the beginnings of a headache, he was certain -- and a strange clenching sensation in his chest. He tried to hold it all together, and looked at the chair. _Explode,_ he commanded it.

It continued to be a chair, smugly unexploded, not even singed.

“You are embarrassing me in front of the wizards,” he muttered at the dragon scale. “Come on, just...”

Nothing.

Maybe he needed to be mad _at the chair_. He focused on it, deciding rather deliberately that it was a hideous shade of red, that the stuffing was beyond absurd, far more than any chair could reasonably need, that its spindly little legs looked ridiculous under the giant pouf of the cushions. It was a stupid chair. Utterly terrible, and he wanted it to be _gone_ \--

A searingly bright light blinded him, leaving his skin crackling and all the hair on his body standing on end. “Shit!”

There was a crash just behind him as Bucky took a startled few steps backward and his horse backend hit a shelf, knocking a few things to the floor. 

Wanda sucked in a breath, gestured to the table, which reformed itself, looking almost ashamed. “You, sit down before you hurt yourself.” She waved a hand at Bucky, who promptly shrank until he was about the size of a hunting dog. “You--” she beckoned Tony. “Let me see this _scale_.”

Bucky’s hands went to his human-like hips and he looked decidedly offended. Also adorable, but Tony didn’t think this was the right time to say so.

He cast Bucky what he hoped was an apologetic glance and unlaced his shirt.

“Not just a dragon scale,” Wanda murmured, bending close to look. “A scale from Jormungand. The great dragon that holds the whole world in his grasp. Truly, you’re lucky this didn’t burn your soul to ashes. You must have been straddling the line between this life and the next.”

“My... Bucky said my heart had stopped,” Tony said. He shuddered. “What does it mean, though?”

“You have been reborn, Tony Stark,” she said. “And now, you are no longer quite human. There are… abilities that the dragons have, all dragons, no matter how great or small. Over time, you will probably discover a handful that you possess. Enhanced healing, strength, endurance. They can shift their shapes. You won’t know if that’s something you can do until you try. But chose your first shape carefully. The form of the body dictates the form of your thought, without practice to protect your mind. If you try to turn into a cat, for example, you may discover that you are no longer capable, or even interested, in changing back. You may find yourself able to see great distances, or see in the dark, like a dwarf. The-- energy surge. Most dragons breathe fire, or lightning, or poison gas. Yours looks like some sort of kinetic energy that pushes things away. A natural armor, maybe. I wouldn’t test that on anything vital. And the greatest of dragons, of which Jormungand is the pinnacle, can fly -- no creature that size could fly without the assistance of magic, wings or no wings. Maybe you won’t need wings at all.”

“No jumping out of windows,” Bucky said, firmly. His voice wasn’t even squeaky, for being that small. Tony’s brain hurt trying to figure out how she’d done that, or even what the ramifications of it were. How could he breathe, that small? No, nevermind, Tony wasn’t going to think about it.

But it was easier than thinking about the things the dragon’s scale was doing to him. “Is it... turning me into a dragon?” He felt stupid just asking the question, but he’d feel even dumber if he _didn’t_ ask it.

“Not in any way that matters,” Wanda said. “Your eyes look human, you’re not sporting new scales, and you certainly haven’t grown horns. Stick out your tongue--” she leaned in to look “-- still human. It could, in time, lead you to adopt some dragonish tendencies. The collection of wealth, the desire to hoard. But ultimately, you are, and likely will remain, mostly human.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Tony looked at Bucky -- it was really weird to have to look _down_ at the centaur. “Okay. I can work with that. I think. Can you, uh. Send us back outside. And put Bucky back at his right size? I could use some time to... think about all this.”

“There is the small matter of my fee, Tony Stark,” Wanda said.

Ah. Yes. “And what is it that you will be paid?” he asked.

“You are of the herdfolk now,” Wanda said. “With strange powers and great abilities. I require of you a summoning ring, if and when I should have need of you. Your herd stallion can teach you to make one.”

Tony looked down at the ring of Bucky’s hair on his own finger. “...Yes, I’m sure he can.” He gave Wanda a look. “Just because you summon me doesn’t mean I’ll do what you want,” he cautioned.

“If you are being attacked by a parliament of owlbears,” Bucky added, “we’re probably not going to help you.”

Tony only barely turned his laugh into a cough. “So long as you understand that, then I will create such a ring for you,” he said formally.

Wanda bowed her head in acceptance. “I will be allowed to summon you once, and you will be allowed to decide if you wish to lend me your assistance after you hear me out.”

“Agreed.” Tony sketched in a bow. “Now, if you’ll kindly show us out...”

* * *

Bucky scowled up at the Tower. He was back to his normal size. Or at least, he was pretty sure. Surreptitiously he sidled up to Tony, trying to measure himself against his herdmate. "Did she tell us anything actually _useful_?"

“Not much. It’s good to know it’s not killing me or turning me into a dragon or anything horrible like that,” Tony said. “But I was hoping for a little more in the way of how to _control_ it. Guess I’ll have to figure it out on my own.”

"I was offered the library once before, but I can't read," Bucky said. "You can. Maybe there's something in there?"

He _probably_ was back to his normal height. He hadn't felt any different when the witch had put a spell on him, but he wasn't sure what being magicked felt like. 

“Maybe. But how many humans -- or other people -- have had anything like this happen to them?” Tony shrugged. “I’ll spend a day or so in the library. Can’t hurt to read up on dragons in general. Maybe some brave soul interviewed one, once, and managed to get their notes out before being eaten.” He stared into the distance as they walked, thoughts obviously busy. After a while, he shook it off and looked up at Bucky with a smile. “Want to show me that ring trick.”

"Gladly," Bucky said. "There is intrinsic magical energy flowing through centaur hair, tail as well as that which grows on your head--" he trailed off, staring at Tony. "Hmm."

“Yeah, my hair’s a little on the short side,” Tony agreed.

"I don't know if adopting you into the herd gives you that same-- well, we can try. We might have to hand spin your hair to make it long enough." Bucky sighed, eyeballing it. They'd practically have to shave Tony's head to get enough hair to weave together and the result was going to be weak and easily broken. "You need a tail." 

Might as well wish for the Moon.

“Yeah, well, that’s not...” Tony trailed off and stopped walking altogether, eyes widening. “Unless she was right and I can change shapes.”

"You would make an amazing centaur," Bucky said, which was true. "You probably could find a book on that. There are lots of wyr that have to learn to control their shapes. And if not, I know a couple of nyads. They can shape shift. I wonder what it feels like. Changing size didn't feel like anything. Of course, I wasn't doing it to myself." He checked his shadow. He was pretty sure he hadn't lost half a hand in height.

“That’s worth looking into,” Tony agreed. He slung his arm over Bucky’s back. That felt the same as always, Bucky was pretty sure. “Okay, well... I guess my next stop is going to be the library. What are you going to do while I’m reading?”

"Gather materials," Bucky said, "and make arrows. Might as well get Steve's herbs now as in a month, if they have some."

Tony nodded. “All right. Do you want to see if the inn has space for you, or sleep outside tonight?” 

"We can see," Bucky said. Tony probably didn't mean to complain but "too old to sleep on the ground" had come out of his mouth from time to time, especially right after waking. Tony preferred a bed. Truth be told, after sleeping with the couch to hold him up at night, _Bucky_ kind of preferred it as well.

“I’ll check there first, then, when I’m done in the library for the day.” Another moment of staring into the distance. Wanda’s information really was taking a while to settle for him, it seemed. “Yeah, okay. I should get on that. The sooner we get it figured out, the sooner we can go home.”

"It will be well," Bucky said. Because he would not, could not, imagine any world in which they had done so much, cheated death, defeated an owlbear… found Tony in the first place… if the gods were just at all, things would be well.

It was only fair.

Tony gave him a quick smile. “Of course it will. I’ll see you soon, yes?”

"Quite soon," Bucky said. He leaned in and kissed Tony's cheek. "Save a portion of dinner for me." 

It wouldn't take too long to gather shafts for arrows, bring down one bird to fletch them, and cantrip a few clay arrowheads. He would just have given over a quiver full except the ones he had with him were specifically designed for owlbears.

General hunting arrows should be ready in a few hours. Well before dark.

“I’ll save two,” Tony replied with a teasing wink. His hand lingered on Bucky’s side as he pulled away until the last possible moment. One last warm smile, and then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson is the Mad Hatter from _Once Upon a Time_ , played by Sebastian Stan. The authors are amusing themselves, and hopefully, some of you. :D


	10. Chapter 10

The library wasn’t hard to find -- Tony just followed the trail of spellcasters clutching thick tomes and looking slightly dazed. What he found when he stepped through the door, however, was like nothing he could ever have imagined. It was _enormous_ , far bigger than the tower’s circumference could have actually contained, and filled, floor to ceiling and in row upon row of books and scrolls. There were tables and bookstands dotted around, many of them in use by witches and enchanters and sorcerers -- Tony had yet to spot any warlocks, and couldn’t say he was sad for the lack -- who were reading closely or somewhat frantically rifling through the pages, each according to their own particular needs.

He walked down one narrow aisle between two sets of shelves, but couldn’t discern any real system of organization. Something too arcane for his current level of knowledge, perhaps, but it wasn’t going to help him locate the information he was most interested in. He was going to have to interrupt someone and ask for help.

There was a man sitting at a table, apple in one hand that he took a casual bite from time to time, while he flipped through a book. Tony blinked. There was a swirl of green mist circling the apple, and after two or three bites, the apple reformed, whole and unblemished.

“That’s a handy trick,” Tony said, without thinking. “Not likely to go hungry, anyway. Though you might get tired of apple.”

“First bite tastes best,” he said. With another swirl the apple went back to complete and whole, no trace of teeth marks. “And somewhat ironic. Does the phrase not go _an apple a day keeps the doctor away_?”

“I’d never considered the phrase might indicate an aversion,” Tony replied, though now, forced to contemplate it, the idea of warding off a doctor with a string of dried apples, the way one might ward off vampires with a string of garlic, was somewhat amusing. Even more amusing was the thought of driving one off with a fresh-baked apple pie. “Are you a doctor, then?”

“I was,” he said, holding up one hand. His hands were thick-scarred and shaking minutely. “And then I had an accident. Are you ill?”

“Not that I know of, but I have an unusual condition.” Tony tapped at his chest. “Did the apple do this to you, then?” he wondered, grinning, “that you’re subjecting it to endless torment?”

“It is a victim of my own laziness, as I do not wish to stop reading and walk all the way to the kitchens,” the man said. “My colleagues are all very learned people, and they all want to talk about their special subjects. Which I find somewhat tedious. You-- you on the other hand, are very interesting. Tell me of this unusual condition.”

“According to Sister Wanda, I have a scale from the dragon Jormugand embedded in my chest. That is, I definitely have a petrified dragon’s scale embedded in me. She’s the one who thinks it was Jormugand’s. At any rate, it seems to be imbuing me with certain abilities. I came here to search for a way to control them, so I don’t hurt anyone by accident.”

“That’s brilliant,” the man said. “You may call me Doctor Strange. I may be able to help you, and certainly, this is research worth preserving. I have been known to deal with a dragon, from time to time. And, like all lizards, great and small, they shed scales. If--” He flickered, as if not quite-- there anymore, and when he faded back in, he was holding several stacks of books that he hadn’t been holding previously.

“Sit, sit, we’ll start here--” He tossed a book in Tony’s direction. “Start here, a history book about the dwarven revolt. I believe there was a mention toward the latter half of the seventh century, about a dwarf who experienced a similar healing-- I can’t recall his name. See if you can find it.”

“Doctor Strange -- you’re the chief sorcerer,” Tony said, recognizing the name. “Surely you have more important things to do...” But he let himself be chivvied into a chair, and started gamely flipping through the history in search of the mentioned dwarf.

“Everything I do is important,” Strange said. “But chiefest amongst my responsibilities is the expansion of magical knowledge. Which, as I have not personally experienced it, is exactly what I need, and certainly more interesting than reviewing this treatise on the health and well-being of a demon familiar.”

“Fair enough, I guess,” Tony said. He kept turning through the pages. “And while I’m doing this, what are you looking at?”

“ _Encyclopedia Draconica_ ,” Strange said, holding up the book. “In addition to having information on different species, it includes several recipes for dragon-related magic. Fire retardant magical cloth, for example, and how to spin it. What nutrients dragons require-- it’s possible you may have changes to your diet to get everything you need--”

“Gods, I hadn’t even considered that.” Tony was suddenly arrested, trying to remember if he’d had any odd cravings over the last weeks.

“I have an acquaintance who spends so much time with the elven people, he actually grew three or four inches, just by virtue of being around them,” Strange said. “Magic has unusual effects on mortals.” He flipped another few pages, hummed thoughtfully.

“Well, I knew _that_.” Tony shook himself and went back to turning pages. “Oh, I think I’ve found it. ‘Rand, gravely wounded in the battle, was restored by the application of concentrated draconic power, a prize hard-won by the rebellion’s skirmishes--’ It goes back to talking about the battle strategy after that.” Tony made a face and turned a few pages more, hoping to see another mention of Rand, a description of unusual powers.

“Hmmm. I’m quite sure I’ve--” Strange blurred again, the book he was holding dropping a few inches to the desk top, and then-- “Here we go, _Journal of Iron Fist, a Mighty Retelling of the Dragon-Heart_. I thought he was just being fanciful, and granted himself an over-the-top title. Rand was rumored to be able to breathe fire, fly, and shift into human and elven forms. He was later accused of being a spy. The elven clans tried to execute him to no avail.”

“Huh.” Tony stretched his neck to read over the sorcerer’s elbow. “I don’t breathe fire. I can create concussive bursts, sometimes. I haven’t tried anything else yet.”

“Give me just a moment,” Strange said, and Tony could have sworn he saw the man both standing there, and bend over the table. He was moving a quill over a book, the sound odd, like a dozen bees buzzing, or a machine part rumbling, and then-- “Here, I copied it for you.” He handed Tony a cheaply made pressboard book, bound together with knotted string. 

Tony blinked. “The... the whole thing?” He opened the cover, riffled through the pages. It certainly looked like the whole thing. Handwritten. Strange’s writing was neat and elegant, not unlike the man himself. “How are you doing that?”

“He cheats,” another man said, not even looking up. This man was missing six of Strange’s inches and all of his hair, and had a martial look. “You know you’re not supposed to use the time stone frivolously.”

“This is Wong, the librarian. Also, he has no sense of humor, and terrible taste in tea. Don’t believe a word he says about me,” Strange said, grinning. Wong looked up, his entire expression neutral disapproval. “Oh, come on, that was funny.”

The librarian did not appear to be moved. Tony wasn’t sure what to make of the exchange. “It’s not frivolous,” he told Wong. “I need a great deal of information, fairly quickly.”

“Hmph,” Wong said, going back to his book.

“He’s an old friend,” Strange said. “One of my mentors and teachers, back when I was learning the mystic arts. He rather objected to my use of time travel to read the entire library in just under four months.”

“His inability to _retain_ the information,” Wong pointed out, “in an orderly fashion, and recall it at need is proof that he is using his abilities lightly. One day, he will get stuck, living the same day over and over, like a fly in amber.”

“I’m... pretty certain that flies caught in amber are dead,” Tony pointed out. That earned him a disdainful sniff from Wong, and a surprisingly boyish grin from Strange.

“Read that,” Strange said. “It’s likely the closest to a case study you’re likely to find. And, should you wish to practice your abilities in a safe space, I would be happy to accompany you to the Mirror Realm. You can’t hurt anyone there.”

“The Mirror Realm?”

Wong, despite pointedly ignoring them, let out a huff.

“It’s a small, alternate dimension. A new realm, on the other side of the mirror, so to speak. It reflects the real word in everything except living beings. There’s no one to harm.”

“I... see. And it’s safe? I wouldn’t...” Tony looked down at the book in his hands, hours and hours of work that had been put together in a few minutes because the sorcerer was... bending time? “I couldn’t get stuck, or anything. I have things to come back to. People.”

“I will take you there,” Wong said, unexpectedly. “This one loses his ring too often--”

“It was one time--”

“With you, that is all it takes.”

Tony looked back and forth between them. He couldn’t figure out if they were rivals or the dearest of friends. He doubted asking would clarify matters. “If there’s a way I can safely practice, that would be good,” he agreed tentatively. “When could we begin?”

“I would only worry, if I allowed him to do it,” Wong said. “He is impatient, wants to learn everything _yesterday_. Time passes… differently in the mirror realm. You may have all the time you like, there.”

“I will continue research here, on this side of the glass, then,” Strange said. “And here, take my sling ring. In case Wong loses his.”

He handed Tony a metal ring that three fingers fit into, making a knuckle guard across his hand. The ring was exactly the right size for him, although he doubted it would have fit over Strange’s swollen knuckles at all. 

“But I don’t know any magic,” Tony protested.

“You will,” Strange promised. He pulled out a silver-backed mirror from the desk and set it up as if Tony were going to fix his hair. “Look here--”

Wong’s hand dropped on Tony’s shoulder, gave him a light squeeze--

And they vanished into the mirror; or the world vanished around them.

Or something.

Very faintly, Tony could see Strange, sitting at the desk. The library itself was sharp, clear, but the people were merely shadows.

“Allow me to demonstrate how little harm you can do--”

And Wong threw a giant fireball right through Strange’s head.

“Shit--” Tony lunged forward as if he could stop it, too slow but unable to resist.

The fireball passed through Strange as if the sorcerer were a shadow, landing on the far side of the library, where it did no harm whatsoever to the floor, furniture, or books.

“Oh gods,” Tony gasped.

“That is more satisfying than it should be,” Wong said. “Now, what shall we practice? Using the repulsor energy, or flying?”

* * *

Bucky put the last arrow in the pile, held his hand over it for a moment, and wished it to be like all its brethren. Swift and true, point sharp and shaft straight. The arrows -- only one of which was very well made, and the rest were pale imitations -- shivered, and then the quality spread from one to the next and the next.

It was always easier performing cantrip magic in the coven. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” said Tony. “I could eat an entire cow.”

Tony’s voice was coming from... above him?

Bucky looked up, and yes, there was Tony. Floating. In the air.

He laughed. “You should see your face!” He descended slowly, until his feet were just about level with Bucky’s chest, and then whatever was holding him up seemed to simply run out, letting Tony drop to the ground. He landed neatly, knees bent, and then looked up at Bucky, grinning wide. “Hi.”

“Your trip to the library was productive,” Bucky observed, treating Tony with the same easy nonchalance that he’d given to the children playing their magical game. _Don’t encourage him to get carried away._

“Rather. It feels like I’ve been practicing for _days_. I wasn’t kidding about being hungry. Wait ‘til you see what other tricks I’ve learned.” Tony bounced on his toes, obviously wanting Bucky to ask.

“I’m glad the library was useful for you,” Bucky said. He carefully bundled the arrows and bound them with a string. “Show me your other trick? Or do you want to wait until after you eat? I can carry you if I have to--” 

Tony was already backing away, spreading his arms like a showman. Bucky had to suppress a fond smile at his enthusiasm.

The light that always shone from the dragon’s scale brightened, until it was easily visible despite the shirt Tony wore over it, and Tony... _rippled_ , like a distant figure on a hot day, like a strip of cloth in a high wind.

And then Tony was looking at Bucky. Not up at him. Nor down at him from the sky, but his face nearly level with Bucky’s. Because he’d... turned into a centaur. 

He laughed delightedly and turned in a delicate circle, letting Bucky get a look at the whole of him. Not so broad as Bucky, but still strong and sleek, with a beautiful dappled coat the color of iron and steel.

Bucky stared. Backed up a few steps, stared some more. “Tony?”

Tony’s tail was long and luxurious, black and white mingled, and nearly bushed the ground. It was probably bad that noting that Tony was a very, very attractive centaur was Bucky’s second thought.

“Yes? You like it? You wouldn’t believe how long it took me to get it to _work_ , but once I got the hang of it, it was actually pretty easy.”

“You look-- quite fine,” Bucky said, and then he couldn’t help himself, not really. He trotted over to push himself up against Tony, the heavy lean of horseflesh against horseflesh, letting his human arm link around that narrow waist. His tail flicked, brushing over Tony’s side. The traditional greeting for a centaur with whom one was very close and familiar.

Tony’s tail twitched in response, though it didn’t quite return the gesture fully. Tony twisted around to glare at it. “I’m still... getting the hang of some of the details,” he admitted. But his body leaned back into Bucky’s, and he wriggled against Bucky’s side, tucking himself up under Bucky’s arm.

“I imagine,” Bucky said. “I can’t quite see that I would be instantly good, say, at walking with half the legs I usually possess.”

“Yeah, the first time I tried to walk like this I nearly got tangled up in all the legs and fell over. I thought Wong was going to break something and actually smile.”

“Newborns often fall; their legs are too disorganized to hold them,” Bucky said, smiling fondly. “You-- look very good this way.” Too good, really, and Bucky’s astonishment at the events was rapidly giving way to thoughts... “How long can you hold the shape?”

“I haven’t pushed it to the limit yet, but at least an hour.” The smile tugging at the corner of his mouth said that he suspected the direction of Bucky’s thoughts.

“Huh,” Bucky said, trying not to think too hard. Humans were not used to random mating experiments out where they could watch. “Sister Wanda asked me to deliver these to the hunter’s lodge. Care to go for a run with me after dinner?”

“That could be fun,” Tony agreed. He leaned in for a kiss, nuzzling lightly at Bucky’s mouth before opening up to it. He lingered in it for a long minute, and his tail was swishing, now, brushing Bucky’s flank and legs. Then he stepped away with a smile that promised everything... and rippled back into human shape. “ _After_ dinner,” he stressed. “I’m still really, _really_ hungry.”

“I don’t even doubt it,” Bucky said, wondering how much strength changing like that took. Certainly more than the meager breakfast Tony had eaten would provide. He’d found the tavern earlier, looking for water rather than going all the way out to the stream. Bucky led Tony around to it; Treatise & Tables Tavern, it was called, and what Bucky had seen of the menu, most of the food there was meant to be eaten one-handed, probably so that a hungry sorcerer or witch didn’t have to look up from their book in order to eat. Meats and pastes and vegetables crammed into rolls, or folded into a flatcake, were the popular items, as well as broths and bisques, served in tankards for drinking dinner.

“Oh, it smells fantastic in here,” Tony enthused, leading the way toward a table. “Whatever’s filling,” he told the server who appeared. “I feel like I haven’t eaten for _days_.”

“That would be the all-nighter,” the server said. “I’ll get you a double, and a pint of the house beer? Or do you need coffee, instead?”

“Beer,” Bucky said promptly. He didn’t much care for the coffee here, being made in huge batches for people without tastebuds left after they’d been drinking too much of their own experiments.

The all-nighter was a long, rectangular plate with several pastries, sandwiches, cheese cubes, grapes, and other finger foods lined up; for a human, enough food for at least a half day.

“Bless you,” Tony exclaimed, grabbing up one of the sandwiches even before the plate had been fully set on the table.

Bucky looked over his own tray with a little more caution before picking up something that turned out to be cheese and fruit wrapped in a pastry shell. “Human cleverness,” Bucky said. “It never ceases to amaze me.”

Tony swallowed. “Humans like to multitask. So we figure out ways to make that easier.”

“Well, it's easier these days, to do other things,” Bucky said. “When we trade food and work, everyone works a little less hard. It used to be, I would hunt or gather grain for half the day, so Steve and I could eat. Now, I have more extra time, to learn and do other things. Humans… you try to do everything, all at once. It’s both exhausting and admirable.”

“I think it’s something the gods did when they created us,” Tony suggested between bites. “Gnomes build, dwarves mine, naiads swim, elves guard things, and humans... try to do it all.”

“Dragons hoard,” Bucky said. “Centaurs shoot… we’re the best marksmen in the world. But you humans with all your inventions and innovations. You change the world to suit yourselves.”

Tony nodded. “It’s something of a wonder the other races haven’t decided to get rid of us, to be honest.”

“There are quite a lot of you,” Bucky pointed out. “Even an ant can kill a grasshopper, if there are like a million ants.”

“True. And some of the other races are _not_ good at working together. So I guess the human race is safe for now.” He crammed a bite of cheese into his mouth and then pointed at Bucky’s tray. “Are you going to finish that?”

Bucky pushed the plate over. “You can have it. I will graze later.”

“You’re the best.” Tony picked up another little pastry thing.

It wasn’t often that Bucky watched someone from another species out-eat him; it was always a very serious thing to invite a centaur to breakfast, as the joke went. But Bucky just laughed, and had the server bring a variety of sweet cakes for dessert.

When Tony had slowed down enough to talk, he told Bucky a little about his afternoon in the library -- which, from the sound of it, had been magically extended, somehow, to well more than that. No wonder he’d been hungry.

But finally, their appetites were sated, at least for a while. They paid their tab, complimented the cook and the brewer, and made their way back out to the outskirts of the little community.

“Where’s this lodge we’re going to?” Tony asked. He sidled away from Bucky. The bright glow of the dragon’s scale was even more noticeable in the dim evening light, nearly blinding by comparison as Tony stretched into his centaur’s shape.

“To the north bend of the river, past the falls. There’s supposed to be a fair wide path we can get to at the edge of the forest. It’s some four or five miles. A good stretch, but nothing too taxing.”

Tony nodded. “You lead the way, then.” He caught Bucky’s eye and grinned. “I’m not racing you.”

Bucky started out at a trot, wanting to make sure Tony had, in fact, figured out how his legs worked. Once they reached the path, and Bucky verified that it was good, wide, and flat, he offered, “Feel like picking up the pace any?”

“Absolutely.” Tony stumbled a little at the transition into a canter, but then seemed to catch the rhythm of it. “I like this!” he called.

For the most part, cantering was a centaur’s primary travel pace. Bucky could canter for several hours without exhausting himself, as long as he didn’t step in a hole or anything stupid like that. He rather imagined Tony would get tired an hour or so in, but luckily, they didn’t have that far to go.

The path was well maintained, wide enough that Bucky didn’t feel any branches, and had been traveled recently enough -- or often enough -- that he wasn’t running through ambitious spider webs.

From time to time, a roadside torch guttered where the path turned. 

“Here,” Bucky called. “I can smell their fire. Not far now.”

They slowed a little, Tony following just a little behind Bucky. “Running is fun,” he said. “I wonder what would happen if I was shod? My pants just... go away and come back when I change, but that’s my natural state. I don’t know if something added to the alternate shape would behave similarly.”

Bucky frowned. “I don’t know. You might want to experiment with that, a bit, before you do anything permanent. I don’t think your human feet would do well with centaur shoe nails in them. Shoes keep wear and tear down on your hooves; prevent hoofsplits. Will your hooves stay in the condition they are when you shift, or do they come back new and fresh?”

Tony nodded. “Something to look into, when we have time. I certainly don’t want to change back and find my feet full of nails.”

Bucky shuddered. He didn’t have feet, not like Tony had them, but he’d had nails put in at the wrong angle, and he’d stepped badly a few times, bruising the frog. One time, as a colt, he’d even gotten a piece of stick jammed in there hard enough that he went lame for three days and his Ma had to pick it out, which hadn’t been fun for either of them.

“Here we are.” The hunter’s lodge was a good sized building, out away from the town so the hunters could work in peace and not have to travel so far. The whole place smelled faintly of blood and raw meat. They were greeted by three humans, an elf, and a dryad, her skin pleasingly green and her hair variegated shades of orange and yellow. The hunters took the offered packet of arrows with thanks.

“It’s good to have herdfolk around,” the dryad said. “It’s been a long time that you were the only one.”

“Oh, Gamora, greetings,” Bucky said, startled. “I didn’t recognize you. You were... pink and flowery. Last time I saw you. This is Tony, my herdmate.” 

Gamora looked at Tony, smiled, and several leaves in her hair turned brilliant red in response to whatever she saw there. “Here--” She plucked one and handed it to them. “For your union.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but didn’t protest. Dryads were strange creatures, and very aware of subtle nuances.

“Thank you,” Tony said. He took the leaf and tucked it over his ear.

“Thank you for the arrows,” one of the hunters said, taking it out of the packet. “And give our regards to the good Sister when you see her, and thank her for thinking of us.”

Bucky nodded, glad his work was appreciated and his skill recognized. “We won’t keep you awake any longer,” Bucky said.

Gamora patted Bucky’s wither fondly. “Go. Enjoy your courtship rituals. Be happy.”

Bucky couldn’t help a smirk. “Oh, I intend to.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the smut-averse - this chapter picks up where the previous one left off, and gets smutty around 1/2 of the way through, depending on where your threshold for smuts is. Once you've reached the level of your discomfort, you can stop; there's nothing plotty afterward.
> 
> Warning for everyone else - Yay, smuts! Be aware that they are both in centaur-shape for this, and so the smut is closer to horse mating than human. If that's going to be a squick for you, feel free to skip it, no harm no foul. <3

Somehow everything seemed very young and very new when they set out onto the path again. There was no need to hurry and canter back to the coven’s square, and every reason to just take their time, walking.

Bucky held out his hand, the red leaf still in the other hand, and twined his fingers with Tony’s. “I am not sure what to make of this,” he admitted, handing it over to Tony. “She must have had a reason to give it to me. Dryads are odd, but not entirely without reason.” The look on Bucky’s face was faintly puzzled, or maybe just a little bit mischievous, like he suspected, but wanted Tony to confirm something.

Tony held the leaf by the stem, twirling it slowly around, examining it. He was, he had to admit, somewhat distracted by the way Bucky was holding his hand, thumb restlessly stroking Tony’s skin, the warmth of the touch.

Also, the way everything... smelled louder. Not more _strongly_ , just. More noticeably. Which didn’t make any sense at all, even in his own head, but that was the only way he could think to describe it.

And so they’d gone a good quarter-mile, well out of sight of the lodge, when he realized the leaf was leaking a clear, thick sap onto his hand. “What the hell is this?” He pulled to a stop to examine it. 

Bucky touched the fluid, rubbing it between his fingers for a moment, raising it to his nose to sniff at it. “It’s… very… _wet_.” Bucky said, which seemed obvious, but Bucky kept rubbing it, which anything wet, like water or dew or even sap, should have dried up. “Slippery, really. Like soaproot. Only it doesn’t smell as strong.”

“Do you think she was telling us we need a bath?” Tony wondered. “Is bathing a dryad courtship ritual, do you think?”

“Dryads don’t bathe,” Bucky said. “They get rained on. If it’s good enough for their tree, it’s good enough for them. This is--” he was still rubbing his fingers together. “Oh. _Oh_!”

“Oh?” Tony hoped fervently that Bucky wasn’t about to tell him this was some kind of vaguely gross practical joke.

Bucky blushed, hot and hard enough to be visible as a darker shadow against the starlight. “It’s… uh, for us. Because we’re the-- we’re both stallions, celebrating our courtship-- it’s. I mean, I don’t know, really, because I’ve always been low rank, I’ve never taken a mare, you know. But--”

“It’s like oil,” Tony realized. “For easing the way. Oh. Yeah, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead, but that’s definitely going to be--” The full implications of what Bucky had said suddenly registered. “You’ve never had sex before?”

“Most of us don’t,” Bucky said. “The herd stallion gets to decide. It’s why Sam and Nat were banished. She-- dared to take what she wanted. I mean… well, there are a lot of side… the herd doesn’t formalize it by calling it a mating, but everyone knows. Mares with mares, stallions with other stallions. Because there’s no foals. I was always busy taking care of Steve, so-- no, I haven’t.”

“Huh.” Tony might have wondered if Bucky would have had sex with Steve, but Bucky would have mentioned that, surely. Not that it mattered, of course. “And I’ve only had sex as a human.” He looked back down at the leaf, which was showing no sign of stopping leaking anytime soon. “This should be... interesting.”

Bucky stopped walking, sidling around until he was facing Tony. “It shouldn’t be so different,” Bucky said. “We’re the same--” He took Tony’s free hand and placed it against his chest, where Tony could feel that one heart beating. “Inside, I mean. I love… and you love. Wouldn’t-- won’t it be beautiful?”

“Of course it will,” Tony agreed. He stepped closer and nuzzled lightly at the side of Bucky’s face, brushing a kiss over Bucky’s cheek. “It’s just also going to be a hell of a learning experience. For both of us.” He grinned.

“Sometimes I wonder when I will wake up,” Bucky said. “I found you, and then I loved you. I thought I lost you, and then that I couldn’t-- we couldn’t be together. And now we can. It’s more than I ever believed I could deserve. Do-- do you have instincts? Sam calls it _the drive._ I know… I mean, I know how it’s supposed to work. You can’t live in a herd and not see it. We don’t -- usually -- have private and separate rooms the way humans do.”

“I had some instincts as a human,” Tony said thoughtfully, “but they’re mostly about what I want. If I want to make my partner happy, I had to... slow it down. Also, the first time or two? Very awkward. Instincts lead you to what you want, but don’t really tell you what to _do_. At least, mine didn’t. Tell me how it’s supposed to work, then. We’ll figure it out.”

“There are traditions,” Bucky said. “If we were not-- declared to each other. I would dance for you, and see if you were interested. And if you are, you dance for me.” He moved in closer, fingers trailing down Tony’s back, touching the bare skin there. “And if you came this close, while we danced, then I might touch you, here, light and soft, and then harder. The skin is very sensitive here, for a centaur. Where skin ends and hide begins. Does it-- feel good for you, if I touch you--” Bucky traced a finger along that line, making short, downward strokes that started on skin and then pushed the fine hairs at the beginning of Tony’s horse-body.

Shivers of sensation raced down Tony’s spine -- the whole of it, from his neck right down to his tail, making it twitch and flip. “Oh! That’s, that’s good, that’s amazing.”

Bucky leaned in even closer, nuzzling at Tony’s throat with his lips, his hands moving over Tony’s back, down his spine, across his withers. “If it was-- well, here, I’ll show you.” He kissed Tony’s mouth, quick and sweet, took a few steps backward and _danced_. It was a proud, very showy motion that emphasized his broad chest and the muscles in his hindquarters. He picked his hooves up extra high and turned on his axis, showing Tony-- offering himself to Tony. Each motion was meant, through some ancient ritual, to show Tony what he would get from a mate. Clever hands and a strong body, graceful arms and a keen eye. A fine, proud tail and a prim, pouting mouth.

When Bucky had turned all the way around, Tony reached out to capture Bucky’s hand. “That’s beautiful,” said, feeling the weight of each of those movements in his core. “That’s-- I don’t know if I could duplicate that, but I’m. I’m definitely impressed.”

Still, Bucky had said this was the way it was done. He should at least try, right? Even if they both already knew they were interested in each other. He dropped Bucky’s hand again and stepped back, and good gods, walking backward was at least six times more difficult with four legs than with two, and he nearly tripped. “Don’t laugh,” he cautioned.

He tried to mimic the way Bucky had lifted his hooves, the proud steps, the sweep of his arms. He couldn’t turn as neatly as Bucky had, but the switch of his tail drew Bucky’s eye anyway, so maybe it wasn’t entirely terrible.

“You are very beautiful,” Bucky told him, his eyes glowing like stars in the darkness. He drew Tony in, close, standing chest to chest with him, and his hands went around Tony’s waist, fingers drawn back to those sensitive spots, making soft, whickering sounds every time Tony’s tail flicked in response.

Tony couldn’t stay still for long. He put his own arms around Bucky, feeling the solid strength of the muscles under the skin, testing the same sensitive spot on Bucky, the delicate patch at the transition of the spine, the smooth skin giving way to silky hair. “You are amazing,” he murmured against Bucky’s ear. “The best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Part of me wants to tell you I am not amazing,” Bucky admitted. “I am normal, and ordinary. Low rank. But-- that was who I was before. Before I met you. And now I am different. Braver, somehow, I think. I would not-- could not-- be the centaur I was before. Could not go back to that life, now that I know something different, something so much better. So all I can tell you is that I will be yours, as long as you will have me, until the very end of my life.”

“Then I think you will have me for a long time, indeed,” Tony said, and brushed a kiss across Bucky’s mouth. “Because I’m not about to give you up.” He rested his forehead against Bucky’s, just basking in the nearness, the rightness of the moment.

Bucky’s fingers skated down his spine again, pressing, and like a child’s jumping-jack, Tony’s rear leg lifted and stamped down hard as he gasped at the shivery sensation. “Bucky,” he panted, “what’s next?”

Bucky nipped at Tony’s throat, then… “Is it… when you’re human, you carry your prick around outside your body, all the time. For a centaur-- it drops. When you’re ready.”

Tony nodded. He’d had a few moments, the first time he’d achieved this shape, where it had felt strange not to have it dangling between his legs. And then it had felt perfectly natural. And then he’d been a little disturbed by the fact that it felt so natural.

Shapechanging was more mentally taxing than he might have guessed.

But since leaving the hunters, he’d become _aware_ of his dick again, the way it felt heavier and heavier in its pouch, the more they flirted and touched and kissed. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I think I’m nearly there.”

“I remember,” Bucky said, “the first time we met.” He kissed Tony one more time, and then walked around him, hand running light and smooth over Tony’s back, his flank, the round swell of his hindquarter. “Do you remember?”

“Of course,” Tony said. “I’d never seen a centaur so close before, and you were -- are -- so gorgeous...”

“I wasn’t quite sure where that hand was going to stop,” Bucky admitted. “And you were so different, but still so beautiful.” His fingers moved until he was rubbing, teasing, over and under, Tony’s tail. “Your tail is very lovely. Did you make it so intentionally, or is this just-- what you look like, when you’re a centaur?”

Tony shook his head, closing his eyes and trying to focus on _not_ flipping his tail to smack Bucky in the face. It was hard, harder than walking; at least he had a vague idea of how legs worked, even if there were more of them. But he’d never had a tail before. “I didn’t choose it. If anything, I was thinking of you.”

Bucky leaned down, practically draping his entire human half over Tony’s rump, hands touching his sides. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not exactly, but it was very odd, and there was part of Tony that wanted to kick out at the weight on him. Bucky patted him, soothing hands over the barrel of Tony’s chest. “It-- when you get all the way ready,” he said, “your prick will drop out, and then-- we can do something. But… uh, you can mount, if you want to. I think I have better control over my tail than you do, the silly thing.”

The thought made heat race through him, and his cock seemed even heavier, reaching. “I-- Are you sure? You’re, I mean, I don’t really know what I’m doing. I don’t want to hurt you accidentally. Also, you’re the herd stallion, isn’t there some kind of rule?” Tony felt breathless, both sets of lungs heaving for air.

Bucky heaved a breath, his weight holding Tony down for a moment, then seeming somehow to lift him up. “You won’t hurt me,” he promised. “And Pierce had _rules_. We’re going to have-- whatever we want. But if you want me to do this, you’re going to have to get your tail-- out of the way.”

Tony reached back, as much as he could, to touch whatever part of Bucky he could reach. He didn’t know _how_ he wanted to do this, just that he wanted it. Didn’t much care, either, except that it was Bucky, and Bucky’s scent all around him, louder and clearer than all the other scents hanging in the evening air. Bucky smelled like horse and sweat and sweet grass and arousal and _home_ , and Tony’s cock dropped free with a bright, shivery sensation that was so sudden he actually stumbled a little.

It didn’t feel -- quite -- like the erection Tony was used to, but it was still a hot throb under him, a familiar, aching need. “Instinct,” he muttered, half to himself. “Stop _thinking_ about it and just...” He focused instead on Bucky, the feel of Bucky’s touch, the press of Bucky’s weight against his back, the remembered feel of Bucky’s lips against his own, and how much he _wanted_.

“There you go, darling,” Bucky crooned, pushing down on Tony’s rump again until it became easier to brace his hind legs, a little further apart than he usually stood, and once he did that… everything changed.

His tail went up, proud and jaunty, and Bucky gasped with sudden wanting.

“Look at you--”

“Oh,” Tony groaned, because yes, he could feel it, now, the way they would come together. “Bucky, oh, I need...” Something. He didn’t know what, exactly, frustrated by his lack of vocabulary for this body and the way it worked -- he’d seen horses mate, of course, but they didn’t talk about how it _felt_ \-- but whatever it was, he needed it.

“I know,” Bucky said, soft, soothing. There was a slight snap, and Bucky broke the stem of the leaf. The slick, oily sap smelled wonderful, and it was cooling over Tony’s heated skin. “I know what-- I know what you need.”

Tony shivered and pushed back into Bucky’s touch, urging, pleading wordlessly. “Yes,” he gasped, “oh, Bucky, sweetheart.” He wanted to kiss Bucky, and that was a flaw in the design, he thought, but not enough of one that he wanted this to stop, not by any stretch of imagination.

“I’m-- I’m going to mount now,” Bucky said, stammering a little, and as Tony stretched his waist to look, Bucky’s face was dark, flushed with wanting and a little bit of embarrassment. “It might take a few tries, I haven’t-- try not to kick me, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Tony promised, though the body seemed to do things entirely without his permission more often than he’d like. “Take as much time, as many tries as you need. I’m here, I love you.”

It really hadn’t crossed Tony’s mind that, as a full grown centaur, Bucky probably weighed in at just over _two thousand pounds_. Right until at least half of those pounds were resting on Tony’s rump. Bucky’s front hooves scraped Tony’s chest once, and then-- “Haybales, sorry, Tony, hang on.” -- the weight was gone again.

“You okay?” Tony twisted, trying to catch a glimpse of Bucky without dancing out of position.

Bucky laughed, awkward and fond at the same time. “You’re taller than I expected. I was gonna-- rub underneath.”

“Oh.” That sounded nice, better than nice, even. His cock throbbed with urgency. “How do I--” He widened his stance a little more, but equine legs weren’t really meant to go in that direction. “It’s okay,” he said, “we’ll have plenty of time to figure it out, try everything we want to try.”

Bucky muttered something, and then he was back up on Tony again, and he did rub underneath, one long member-- really, very long, Tony thought with not a little bit of alarm, all things considered-- hot and hard, and brushing against Tony’s, which was sensitive, eager, quivering.

“Oh!” Bucky sounded shocked, almost and his weight leaned harder on Tony. His hands gripped Tony’s withers, holding on, pulling Tony back toward him, or pulling himself toward Tony. It was hard to tell, but the results were all that mattered; Bucky’s prick against his, a torrent of sensation.

“Oh gods, that’s good,” Tony groaned, pushing back into Bucky as much as he could, with so much of Bucky’s weight on him. “Bucky, my love, yes, like that...”

Bucky made some sort of noise, and then his forehead was practically pressed into Tony’s lower back, his lips touching Tony’s spine. “Hold on--”

Bucky lunged back again, and then-- 

\--there was no easing into it, no gentle play, no stretching, no prep. Just molten heat, a brutal hardness that pushed in, taking, conquering--

“--Sugar and oats--” Bucky swore, low and fervent and full of love. His hands were gentle on Tony’s back, stroking that sensitive ring around his waist. “Oh, oh, _Tony_.”

Tony couldn’t say anything, panting through that indescribable pressure, that sensation of everything inside him being shoved aside to make room. Bucky’s soft touches were sending shudders and shivers through him, and then Bucky pressed more firmly and that-- it was like opening a valve, somehow, a silent signal to Tony’s body to relax, to welcome the intrusion rather than trying to fight it. “ _\--Gods_ ,” he bit out.

Not quite awkward, but somehow sweet and shy, given that Tony was fairly sure Bucky’d just shoved almost two feet worth of horseflesh inside him, Bucky nipped at Tony’s shoulders, licked down his spine, kissed his ribs, his waist, the whole time his hands petting and soothing, while the horse, back half of him, thrust and reared. 

His hooves scrambled for purchase on Tony’s back, and then settled into the grooves just in front of Tony’s hindquarters, giving him a good balance.

Tony braced against Bucky’s thrusts, rocking back into them, letting out gasps and moans, panting out curses and praise and nonsense laced with Bucky’s name. His hands flexed, eager for something to touch, but there wasn’t much of Bucky that he could reach, and his dick was definitely too far away. He eventually settled for grabbing the nearest tree and using it to help him brace, to push back.

Bucky kissed his spine one more time, licking the spot, worrying at it with teeth that had always looked human, but quite obviously were not--

And then he pushed back, reaching _under_ Tony. It was a long stretch, really, and Bucky could only seem to reach the very head of Tony’s dick, a flat, almost spade-like glans, but--

_Oh, gods._ When Bucky stroked it, one handed, it sent powerful shivers through Tony’s entire body.

The sound Tony made was probably embarrassing, but in that moment, he didn’t care in the slightest. “Bucky, oh oh oh...” It was like vibrating between two peaks of pleasure, and Tony wasn’t sure he could stop moving, stop shivering between those touches, if he tried. Pleasure turned into heat that built into an inferno. “Bucky! I’m, I can’t, I--”

“You’re doin’ just fine,” Bucky told him, gentle and sweet, all the while moving his hand over Tony, slick from the leaf’s sap-- encouraging him with soft whickers and neighs. “You can find it-- I’ll get you there.”

“Bucky--” Tony thought he might vibrate forever on that knife’s edge, the cusp of pleasure that separated pain and relief. And then with a somewhat awkward lean, Bucky’s hand _twisted_ and a shout boiled out of Tony’s throat as it seemed like every bit of pressure and heat that had been building in him released all at once, a hot flood from his cock.

Bucky made another sound, and then he was back, upright, pushing into the heat of Tony’s body, pounding the orgasm out of him, until Bucky gave a whinnying sort of scream, practically collapsing over Tony’s back.

“Oh,” he said, as if someone had just shown him all the secrets of the universe.

Tony was still panting for breath from his own release, his sides heaving. He groped behind him until his hand found Bucky’s. “Love you,” he managed. “So much.’

“I love you, too,” Bucky said, squeezing Tony’s fingers. “And now I must figure out where I put my hooves, because I’m not sure they’re on the ground.”

Tony laughed, which -- oh, that felt a little odd. “And I’m not sure how much longer I can hold this shape, so you should probably not be on top of me when I change back.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said, and he shoved backward, practically walking on his hind legs a few steps before thudding to the ground. Tony’s body clenched down on the emptiness -- there was just no doing things by half measure as a centaur, Tony decided.

He shuddered a little, and managed to get himself turned around to face Bucky again. Reached up to twine his arms around Bucky’s neck for a kiss, slow and sweet. It was nice, being the same height, or at least close enough to it for kissing and casual intimacies. But he could feel the magic beginning to stutter, a sort of flickering sensation in his chest. In an emergency, he thought, he might be able to hold onto the shape for another half-hour or so. But there was no emergency, and the dragon’s scale would recover more quickly if he didn’t completely exhaust it, according to Wong.

He twisted, and it took him a couple of attempts to coordinate enough to flick his tail and grab at the same time. He wrapped his fingers around a couple of strands and yanked them free. It stung a little, but less than pulling out human hair. “I just want to make sure...”

He closed his eyes and focused the way Wong had showed him in those endless hours of practice, letting the shape, the _idea_ of the shape, flow from his mind. It was a little like releasing a long-held muscle, almost an effort _not_ to hold on to the image. But then it slid away, skittering and jumping like water bouncing off hot steel, and when he opened his eyes again, he had two legs and Bucky was towering over him.

He looked down; the two tail hairs were still wrapped around his fingers. “Huh. I wasn’t sure that would work.”

Bucky yawned and stretched. “I think I may sleep for a _week_. It’s still not too cold; do you want to find a lee-side bower and rest a bit?”

“Rest sounds nice,” Tony agreed. He leaned against Bucky’s side, throwing an arm over Bucky’s back as they walked. “Now it feels weird to only have two legs again.”

“And you’re very short again,” Bucky said. “But it is all right. I still love you.”

“Well, thank goodness for that.”


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky threw open the main door to the house, letting in a slightly too-chilly, but nonetheless fresh blast of air.

“Were you born in a barn?” Sam wondered, pushing past him to go outside, the tiny filly at his hocks. Nat had foaled almost a month ago, but this was RiRi’s first trip outside where the grass wasn’t covered with snow and ice.

The winter had been long and hard and Bucky was grateful for the house. During the autumn months, he and Tony had worked hard to seal the roof, to insulate the walls, to add yet another few rooms on because Tony was there more often than he was gone, and Nat and Sam were expanding their little herd.

But now it was spring.

Technically.

“Uncle Buck’s comin’?” RiRi asked, tugging at Sam’s hand.

“I’m going to sweep out the house first,” Bucky told her, because the hallways and floors did get dirty with half a dozen centaurs trotting in and out all the time. Tony was working on the problem of keeping the floors both clean and insulated, but it was going to have to wait until the weather was warm enough to work.

Steve delicately picked his way outside, kicking aside some of the bigger lumps of ice and examining the ground closely. He’d decided to plant an herb garden in front of the house, and had been making plans all through the winter. Now that the ground was finally showing again, he was eager to get on with it.

Tony would be coming over soon, but the thaw had come with the realization, for many of the townsfolk, that they had tools in need of repair, so the forge was busy. If Bucky was still and there wasn’t too much traffic on the street, he could hear the faint sound of the hammer.

Nat emerged with a heavy blanket over her arm, which she tossed over Steve’s back. “Stay warm,” she chided. “You don’t need another illness.” She looked up at the sky and nodded in satisfaction. “Might go for a run later. Stretch my legs.”

Steve had barely been ill this winter at all, between Bruce’s doctoring and the shelter of the house, but they were all still in that mindset, and a bad cough had gone around the whole herd just after midwinter. Steve grumbled, but did what he was told. Nat could be irritating that way. She wasn’t the herd mare, but she was the only mare, so most of the time the rest of the herd did as she said, because she said so.

Bucky mucked out RiRi’s room; the young filly still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of asking to go outside. Fresh hay spread over the floor, a bit of sweeping, and the house was as clean as it was going to get in one day.

Probably because Bucky was lazy.

And also because he was just putting the broom away when RiRi came running up, her legs not quite coordinated enough for a full gallop. “Uncle Buck!”

Bucky gave the filly his attention, fully expecting to hear a story about rabbits, or a human boy in the village, or--

“There’s other centaurs here!”

Steve looked up sharply. “Other centaurs? Who? Where?”

“You are not going,” Nat told him firmly. He opened his mouth to protest, and she pushed a bow into his hands. “Stay here. Protect RiRi.”

Which wasn’t a bad strategy; if it came to a fight for some reason, Steve was too small to do anything but get in the way, but the house was sturdy. He could stand in the doorway and deny entrance as long as the arrows held out.

Nat looked at Bucky. “I will fetch Tony.”

“Probably best,” Bucky said. “Tell him to come as one of us.”

Everyone, even the villagers at this point, knew that Tony could shape shift, but they’d mostly let everyone believe that it was something Bucky and the herd had done, an enchantment to allow Tony and Bucky to have their happiness. A few people thought it was weird, or unpleasant, but as Tony was well past youth as far as the villagers were concerned and hadn’t already gotten married, it wasn’t like any of the young ladies in town were missing anything.

Bucky slung his bow over his back and grabbed a quiver of arrows with Tony’s steel-headed tips. He didn’t think it would come down to shooting, but the herds were not always looking for peace.

They were very unlikely to be looking to trade.

Best to be prepared.

“Shut and bar the door behind me,” Bucky told Steve, and then stepped out toward the direction Sam and RiRi had gone originally. That Sam wasn’t back yet-- that was only mildly worrisome. There were a lot of villagers; someone would have raised an outcry if Sam had been attacked immediately.

Sam was, in fact, standing at the gate for the village, looking at the handful of centaurs, winter-lean and coats a little ragged, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “As the humans would say, look what the owlbear dragged in,” Sam remarked.

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” Bucky said, but it was hard to drag his gaze away from the approaching centaurs, Pierce at its head.

He looked the best of the three -- as was only right -- but even he was looking hollow-eyed and hungry, his straw-colored hair brittle in the spring sun, his coat dull rather than glossy.

“So here you are,” he said, as he approached the gate. He sounded perfectly calm, even somewhat pleased. “Bucky, Sam. It’s good to see you both.”

“Our herd prospers,” Bucky said, giving Pierce a formal bow; Herd Stallion to Herd Stallion. “May yours also prosper.” There were times he wished, very much, that he was Tony, because Tony would have been able to come up with some snarky remark on the spot that turned the traditional greeting into something cynical and sarcastic. Bucky only settled for not remarking how poorly Pierce, Rumlow, and Rollins looked. Their herd was _not_ prospering.

Or at least, it was the very end of winter. The gods knew sometimes Bucky had looked pretty rough in the spring.

“Yes,” Pierce said slowly, looking them over. “I rather thought you’d have come home for the winter season. Ended your ridiculous little... experiment. That you were forced to shelter with _humans_... Well, if I’d known, I would have sent for you sooner.” He looked past them, into the village proper. “Where’s Nat?”

Bucky didn’t quite bristle, pull back his upper lip and sneer at Pierce, but it was a close thing. Nat might not be his mare, but she certainly wasn’t for Pierce. “Bringing out the other member of our herd, that we might parley.”

Pierce would never consider Steve a full fledged member of anyone’s herd, so he wouldn’t really notice the lack. And if they were very lucky, Pierce hadn’t seen RiRi before Sam sent her back to the house.

“Parley? There’s nothing to bargain,” Pierce said. “Your parents were born to this herd. You were born to this herd. This is your herd. It’s time for the three of you to come home. You can bring the runt along, if you must, but I won’t stand for having useful and productive members of my herd loafing around and associating with humans.” He _did_ sneer.

For a long, tense moment, Bucky was frozen. He’d taken up the mantle of Herd Stallion, mostly at Nat’s insistence that the herd needed a leader, but this was the first time his leadership had been put to the test. Among his own, small herd, the general business of the day was decided by consensus, and they’d barely argued over anything more than trivial matters. Bucky had spent his whole life lowering his head to Pierce, complying with Pierce’s demands. 

But the herd was counting on him; they were safe here, they were warm and well fed, they were useful and welcomed. “I think you miscount the number of your herd,” Bucky said. He turned, just a little, to let his quiver hang where it could be seen. The owlbear feathers that decorated the leather were tawny, beautiful, and very, very obvious.

 _Meddle with a slayer, if you dare it._ Bucky stomped his hoof on the ground in emphasis, and Sam stamped as well, echoing the declaration.

Pierce’s eyes narrowed. “Now see here. You have no right--”

“Man, shut the hell up,” Sam said, folding his arms.

Hooves rang on the cobblestones, and Tony was there, drawing up at Bucky’s right. He held his smithy hammer in one hand, and he’d shed his shirt -- probably on Nat’s suggestion, as he usually kept it on out in the village proper. The dragon’s scale shone in the center of his chest, and his head was held high, his lovely tail swishing proudly. “I heard we have visitors,” he said calmly. “Friends of yours?”

“Former herdfolk,” Bucky said. “Pierce, Rumlow, Rollins. Our newest herd member, and my mate, Tony.” He waved, making all the formal gestures and appropriate noises. But Tony knew him well, and was in no doubt of Bucky’s feelings.

Tony did not offer a bow, as would have been proper. He looked Pierce and the others over, assessing. “Mm. The herd stallion who doesn’t know how to lead, the smith who doesn’t know how to make proper shoe nails, and...” He squinted at Rollins. “Yeah, Bucky’s never even mentioned you. Why are you here?” He looked at Bucky. “Why are they here?”

“They seem to think it’s time for us to go home,” Bucky said, gesturing. “Because useful, productive herd members should not be loafing around _humans_. I wonder what Goodwife Richards would think of that.” There had been a fire at the Richards’ home during the winter and Sam and Bucky had kicked in the bedroom wall in order to let Sue and her brother Johnny out of the blazing building.

“It _is_ almost time to go home,” Tony said. “It’s been a busy day. I’m hungry.” He pointed at Pierce. “You’re not invited.”

“Dinner sounds good,” Sam agreed mildly.

Pierce scowled. “I don’t know who you are or where you came from,” he snapped, “but I will _not_ be spoken to in such an insolent manner!”

“Bored now,” Tony announced. He hefted his hammer, twirling it in his hand as if it weighed no more than a broom handle.

“I think we’re done here,” Bucky said. “You’ll be wise not to challenge it, Pierce. I have a good, strong herd, and many allies. Tony and I slew an owlbear and drove off two more. Don’t make this a contest of strength. You will lose, and then I will have to be responsible for your entire herd.” He turned to Tony. “There are about thirty more, they’re not all as horrible as Pierce, or as useless as Rollins. We could probably build another few houses, if we needed to, do you think?”

Bucky looked back up at Pierce, as if surprised the stallion was still standing there, rigid with fury. “You can go now.”

“You--” Pierce started forward, only to shy back when an arrow landed a bare inch in front of his hooves.

“Did I forget to mention Nat was keeping watch?” Tony said. “Nat’s keeping an eye on us from a safe distance.” He waved at Pierce. “Bye, now. You’ll want to find a safe pasture before nightfall, and you won’t find one around here.”

Bucky turned his back on Pierce, the height of rudeness. He might have been tempted for even more rudeness, but the villagers were apt to get a little upset with him if Bucky peed right in the middle of the main thoroughfare. Horses were allowed; centaurs were supposed to know better.

But he did twitch his tail, just a little, as if considering it.

There was more than a little overly-dramatic puffing and snorting before the three turned and cantered away. They had to make certain everyone knew they weren’t _fleeing_ ; they were leaving because they chose to leave.

Yeah, right.

Tony slung the hammer on his shoulder as he watched them go. “You think they’ll try again?”

“He’d have to rouse the herd enough to get a war party,” Bucky said, “and I can’t imagine Pierce not choking on the words. An entire herd of centaur to take only three adults back -- because he won’t count Steve -- after telling them they should leave? It’s doubtful that he could raise that much ire.”

Bucky hoped not, because he was pretty sure the village could repel the invaders, but it would be costly.

“Might be wanting to keep an eye out,” Sam suggested, “just in case.”

“It’s a good notion,” Tony agreed. “I wonder if we could get a message to the rest of the herd that we’re accepting new members. By application only.”

“They might, unwillingly, let that information out on their own,” Bucky said. “Rumlow can’t ever seem to keep his mouth shut, the whole herd will hear about it by nightfall.”

“So he’s not _totally_ useless. But seriously, dinner,” Tony said, turning back toward town. “And while we eat, we can discuss what to do if any new potential herd members come calling.”

“Dinner,” Bucky agreed, slinging his arm around Tony’s waist, fingers playful just above the hairline. Not quite… teasing. But letting Tony know he was thinking about it. “Expanding the herd does have its advantages. We shouldn’t dismiss it out of hand.”

“We should talk it over as a group. Later.” Tony gave Bucky a look from under his lashes, smoldering and tempting. “Come back to the smithy with me and help me close up for the night?”

Here they were, Bucky thought, allied with humans, comfortable and happy, sharing a life. And all for want of a centaur shoe nail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, faithful readers, is a wrap!
> 
> Next Sunday I'll be taking off, and then we'll be back on the 15th to start "Djinn with the Light Brown Eyes"!

**Author's Note:**

> Grass tetany is a horse illness that causes them to have muscle cramps, general lack of coordination, and “staggering.” It’s usually caused by a nutritional imbalance, or too much time being transported, or stuck in a small stall. Horses need to MOVE AROUND.
> 
> (PS - authors are not vets. I remembered the term from when I used to ride horseback and added it in as flavor text. any errors are mine)


End file.
